For Want of a Mallory
by Slithery
Summary: Mallory Hopkins is no ordinary eleven year old. At Hogwarts, she quickly realizes that her position as the only muggleborn in Slytherin is a precarious one, and it's up to her to put a stop to the bullying. That alone would be enough for any child, but the Chamber of Secrets is opening, and now her teachers are whispering how she looks just like her mother.
1. Secret Agent Spy

Posted on FFNET (under the pen name Slithery) and on AO3 (under the pen name SirHiss).

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Consider this disclaimer to cover the entire fic.

Full Summary: Mallory Hopkins is no ordinary eleven year old. At Hogwarts, she quickly realizes that her position as the only muggleborn in Slytherin is a precarious one, and it's up to her to put a stop to the bullying. That alone would be enough for any child, but the Chamber of Secrets is opening, and her teachers are whispering how she looks just like her mother. Meanwhile, Witches and Wizards are disappearing across Great Britain.

Author's Note: To get the typical questions out of the way: no, this isn't a fem!Harry story, nor will Mallory be the romantic interest of Harry Potter or any of the main characters. Mallory is not meant to fill the role of Harry Potter, nor does she play any real role in the main plot of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. We already know what happens, and who did it. There are no great mysteries to uncover or surprises to be found there.

Edited by my dear friend, the lovely Sage.

* * *

For Want of a Mallory By Slithery AKA Sir Hiss One

_November 22, 1982_

One early November evening in a small village on the edge of Dartmoor stood an old wizened man in bright purple robes and pointy hat. He was waiting patiently, nose twitching at the smell of damp rising from the tall, uncut grass.

With a loud pop, another strange man appeared next to him. This one had oily hair and in his arms he held a small bundle, roughly the size and shape of a baby.

"Albus."

"Severus." Albus replied.

"We'll just be leaving it here then, with the muggles?" Severus scowled.

"It's the best we can do." Albus' eyes fixed on the cottage: brick and mortar, with its bright, unnatural muggle lights. Next to the cottage, some metal muggle contraption stood sentinel and silent.

Severus leaned in closer, hissing. "This is a foolish idea, I'd dare say even reckless. If they discover what we've done—"

"—we'll make sure that doesn't happen." interrupted Albus.

The old wizard then took the child from Severus's arms and walked to the front door of the small cottage, where two unsuspecting muggles lived.

The muggles were vetted in advance, both of them. Kind people who couldn't have a child of their own, and who desperately wanted one. It was the perfect solution to their problem.

"And if the child discovers the truth, what then?" Severus asked.

The old wizard didn't answer his question.

* * *

_March 21, 1992_

_Ten Years Later_

Two bikes skidded to a halt in front of the low stone wall separating the dirt road from the Turner's property. Mallory Hopkins and Danny Pearce weren't supposed to be here. But cutting across the field was the fastest way into the village, and they were running late for dinner.

On this day, Mallory turned eleven years old. Her birthday party had been earlier that afternoon. She'd opened her presents and ate a rather large portion of her cake, before dragging Danny out to their bikes. Past the main road and across two hills, they rode all the way to their favorite spot by the river. There they spent a lazy afternoon basking in the sun and splashing stones into the water.

But now it was getting dark and Danny said his mum would skin him alive if he was late, so they were making their way back. She was annoyed at first, because it was her Birthday and that meant she ought to get whatever she wanted. But then she glimpsed the dark clouds creeping across the moor and decided it was for the best.

The crumbling stone wall went up to their shoulders, so the two needed climb over it. They got off their bikes and hefted them up over the wall, dropping them into the muck on the other side. Danny gave Mallory a boost, and they jumped down next to their bikes, landing in the mud with a splat.

It sucked at her boots as she moved to pick up her bike.

"Mum's going to kill me," the scrawny boy groaned.

She made a face. He was being dramatic, like always. The most Mrs. Pearce would do was holler at him. And from what Mallory understood, Danny's mum did that quite often. She didn't see how this time would be any different.

His mum didn't like mud, or the fact that he and Mallory went down to the river, which was dangerous. The parents in the village said once a child had fallen in the river and drowned. Mallory figured it was one of those stories adults made up to scare little kids.

And besides, Mallory wasn't afraid.

They plodded across the field, dodging brambles that caught on their shoes and bike tires. The wind was picking up, stirring the grass and rattling the whins. Twice they got her, leaving two long scratches across her legs.

Dragging their bikes behind them, they squelched onto the main road. Danny nudged her shoulder and she glanced over to see the last two people she wanted to run into on her birthday.

The Turner twins.

The twins stopped in their tracks, eyes narrowed in disgust.

It wasn't her fault, not really. She hadn't meant to, it was just, strange things tended to happen around her when she got angry. And the last time that happened, Robbie Turner was dumping pencil shavings in her book bag.

She had wished hard for something bad to happen to him, because he was a giant knobhead and she _knew_ she'd get splinters from cleaning the stupid pencil shavings out of her bag. He had laughed at her while she shouted at him, drawing the attention of their entire class.

And then, suddenly, a clump of his hair fell from his head. It had hovered for a moment in front of his nose before falling to the floor. He'd frowned and run his hands through his hair, only for more clumps to be pulled away.

At the time, it was funny. He'd shrieked and clutched at his scalp, only to watch as all his hair fell out. But then she turned and saw her classmates' faces.

Now they were all avoiding her, not just Robbie Turner and his friends.

Danny stuck by her because he'd always known she could do things the other children couldn't do. He thought she was brilliant for it— like she was a real life superhero.

The Turner twins eyed Mallory and Danny for a moment, before turning around and walking back stiffly the way they came.

Danny snickered. "Bet they had fun explaining to their mum how Robbie's hair fell out."

She looked away. The sight of the twins just served to remind her that there was something very unnatural about Mallory Hopkins.

When she was little, she hadn't realized that she was doing anything extraordinary. Fairy tales and magic were in all the movies, and what she could do— turning lights on with a thought or animating toys just because she wished it— seemed like nothing special at all.

But as she got older, she realized that she had to keep her powers a secret. She'd read all the comics, _X-Men_ and the like: when people found out someone had superpowers, they don't react positively. People called the police. Then secret agents came to lock up the mutants and do horrible experiments on them.

She really _really_ didn't want to be dissected, thank-you-very-much.

Not that any of her classmates would tell the adults, because no adult would ever believe them. But it still scared her, because she couldn't always control her temper or her powers. And what if it happened in front of an adult? What if the next _Robbie Turner_ happens in front of a video camera?

Danny nudged her shoulder again. "None of that, not on your birthday." He swung one leg over his bike. "Come on, let's race back. I'll bet you a fiver I can get to the letterbox before you."

"No cheating!" Mallory hollered after him, but Danny was already off. She scrambled onto her bike, pedaling hard to catch up.

She rode on his tail, skidding around a corner and nearly crashing into the bins in front of their neighbour's yard. Her bike shuddered and jolted under her with every break in the uneven pavement.

The wind whipped her dark hair back as she kept low on the bike, trying to cut wind resistance. Danny Pearce was not beating her this time, not on her life.

A crack of thunder boomed as the approaching storm finally caught them.

She pulled up by Danny's side, legs pumping at the pedals furiously, as they rounded on the final turn. Danny slowed, but Mallory didn't, trusting her powers to keep her bike upright as she whipped around the corner full speed.

Except her powers failed.

The wheels slid out from under her and she didn't even have time to think before she hit the ground hard, tumbling across the street before skidding to a halt.

"Mallory!"

Danny pedalled back to where he'd seen her fall, but she was already picking herself up.

She held her hands up. "I'm okay."

Both knees were bloodied, though one was more scraped up than the other. Her shoulder would be sore, but that wasn't so bad.

"Dummy." He held out a hand and she took it, hauling her to her feet. They limped the last leg to Mallory's house, walking next to their bikes instead of riding.

No one mentioned who won the race. Danny knew her pride could suffer no further injuries this day.

The lights were on and Mrs. Pearce from two doors down was waiting under the awning on the front step, arms folded. Mallory couldn't see through the rain, but she bet her face was cross.

She waved, just to make Mrs. Pearce feel obligated to wave back. Mrs. Pearce always made a funny face when Mallory tried being friendly, like she'd swallowed a lemon.

Mallory dropped her bike on the front lawn and said goodbye to Danny. She stomped up the steps and into her house, knees stinging with every step.

"Mum, Dad, I'm home."

There was a low murmur of conversation coming from the living room, which Mallory ignored in favor of walking down the narrow hall towards the kitchen. She was intent on patching herself up before mum saw her.

"Mallory, in here!" mum called, and Mallory groaned. She doubled back, past the creaky staircase and into the warmly-lit living room. Both her parents were sitting on the chesterfield.

Across from them sat the strangest woman Mallory Hopkins had ever seen. She was perched on the seat across from her parents, looking out of place in their ordinary house with her witchy-looking black robes and pointed hat. She was like something out of a storybook.

"Oh lord, Mallory, what's happened to you?" Mum got up, rushing over to fuss over Mallory's scraped knees, incidentally blocking Mallory's view of the stranger.

"I fell off my bike. And it was raining."

"Your knees!" Mum's voice did that thing it did when she was stressed and it went all high pitched. "What did you do to your knees?"

"I said I fell, didn't I?"

"Don't sass your mother," said Dad.

"And the mud— Look at it! Don't tell me you went down to that horrid river again."

"I won't, then." She tried batting her mum away so she could look at the stranger on their couch.

"Mallory, don't drip on the carpet," said her dad, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"S'not like I can help it."

"I said don't sass."

"I'm not sassing, and anyway who's she?"

Mum moved aside and Mallory gave the stranger a little wave.

"Hello, Miss Hop—," the strange woman froze with her tea cup halfway to the table. She stared at Mallory for a good long moment before she cleared her throat.

"Miss Hopkins. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Hello." Mallory stood outside the living room, dripping on the carpet. Her shirt was sticking to her skin and there was dirt on her arms and legs from the fall. That was in addition to the bloody scrapes on her knees.

She carried with her the smell of the damp outdoors and muck from the river. Which was probably why the woman was staring at her, _still_ staring at her. But a part of her feared that the real reason was something more sinister.

She made Robbie Turner's hair fall out, and now there was a strange woman sitting in their living room. The woman didn't look like how Mallory imagined secret agents would look, but then secret agents wouldn't want to look like secret agents. It would make keeping it a secret rather difficult.

The stranger cleared her throat again, and put her cup of tea down. "I am Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall. I'm here as a representative of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As I was just telling your parents, you are invited to attend our school next September."

Mallory edged into the room, trying to be casual, like she wasn't in the room with a lunatic or secret agent.

"Mum?" Her voice wavered, just a bit, at the end. "What's going on?"

"Ask daddy, love. I'm getting the first aid kit. I don't want those cuts getting infected." Mum walked off, which meant it was just her dad between her and the potential secret agent or crazy lady.

"Dad?" She inched closer to him.

"Just watch the rug."

"Got it. What's going on?"

"Like I said," spoke McGonagall, "Hogwarts is a school for gifted children. Surely you've had some instance where you've noticed you can do things that other children cannot?"

"Um. No. Definitely not. I'm ordinary. Very ordinary."

"Mallory, don't you remember that time when you were five and you made Nibbles float?" He turned to the secret-agent-pretending-to-be-a-professor, "I couldn't believe my eyes, it was a miracle."

Nibbles was her stuffed panda.

"Not helping, dad. And it was probably just your imagination." She was now edging away, back towards the kitchen where mum was under the cabinets digging out the first aid kit. She could run out the back door with a big enough distraction. And she knew Danny would let her hide under his bed for the night. From there, she didn't know where she'd go.

Mallory gave the Deputy Headmistress a winning smile. "You know dad, with his active imagination."

That was what Danny's mum said when he'd told her, at age six, that Mallory had superpowers. It sounded like the thing one ought to say when convincing someone that superpowers weren't real.

"What's gotten into you?" said her dad, frowning.

Mallory didn't know how long the secret agent had been here with her parents before she got home. But if dad already let the cat out of the bag—

"She's a secret agent! Dad, _run!_" With that Mallory took off, only to collide with her mum in the doorway.

"Mallory!" Mum gasped. She grabbed Mallory by the arms, preventing her from scrambling to freedom.

"Let go! She's a super secret agent and she's going to take me away and then you'll never see me again because they'll do 'speriments!"

"Miss Hopkins! I do not know what a secret agent is—" Professor McGonagall said super secret agent the same way some people said _pustules_ and _taxes._ "—but I am certainly not here to take you away from your parents. I am a teacher of Transfiguration, and if you'd just sit down I'd show you."

"Don't listen to her!"

"Oh for heaven's sake!" said the secret agent, and she whipped out a slender wooden stick and aimed it at their coffee table.

And then the table turned into a great big dog.

Mallory gaped, shrugged off her mum's now-lax grip, and walked onto the carpet to get a closer look.

"Mallory!" dad hissed. "You're dripping on the carpet."

She ignored him. It was a real dog, and it even woofed when she poked it.

"Wicked. How'd you do that?"

"That is what you'll be learning at Hogwarts."

"Mallory. The carpet."

"Dad!" She said in her best dad-you're-being-embarrassing tone.

"Tony, no one cares about the bloody carpet," said mum.

"I do. It's my mother's and it's—"

Professor McGonagall flicked her wand again and Mallory was dry. Two more flicks and all the mud was gone and her cuts were healed.

She stared at the Professor, who was _probably_ not a super secret agent or a lunatic, and wondered if she could go to their school early. Like, right now.

Mum raised her eyebrows. "I guess I got the first aid kit out for nothing, then."

"_Mum._"

"Well, now that we have that over with, there's a lot to go over and some forms to fill out. Though without anymore interruptions," the professor paused to give Mallory a _look._ "This should be done in no more than an hour."

This was, Mallory thought, possibly the best birthday ever.

* * *

There is art for this fic on my profile.

Changelog:

-I've dropped the Angela Winters sub-plot. It's completely irrelevant to the overarching plot of the story. I originally added it to give the villagers a reason to despise Mallory. She'd have experience dealing with adversity, and so would be better equipped to handle bullies in Hogwarts. But that can be accomplished using the speech impediment/Robbie Turner Incident, without complicating matters further. Expect some minor changes in dialogue where this was previously referenced.

-British English Alert! I've added mouseover text to the AO3 version for British slang. Sadly, ffnet doesn't support this feature. Because of this, British English &amp; translations will also appear in the end notes. I'm excluding commonly-used words that I'm assuming people know. If I'm wrong, leave me a message. And please do feel free to Brit-pick.

DICT:

-Whins: prickly/thorny bushes

-Chesterfield: sofa/couch.


	2. The Slytherin Initiation Part 1

For Want of a Mallory By Slithery AKA Sir Hiss Two

_September 1, 1992 (Tuesday)_

The first thing anyone said to her was, "Hi! Have you seen Harry Potter?"

"Who?" Mallory was in the side hall of the Hogwarts express, trying to find an empty compartment when the short blonde boy bumped into her.

Mum's eyes had teared up when Mallory got on the train. Dad gruffly said that all she had to do was write if she wanted to come back home. And together they asked more than four times if she had all her things.

She convinced them she was fine on her own when they offered to help her find a compartment. No one else's parents went on the train with their children, and she wasn't about to be the first.

Now she was standing in the middle of the packed carriage. Dragging her trunk behind her, she felt overwhelmed. Was she supposed to go to an empty compartment and sit? She didn't know if there were separate carriages for different years, or if she'd get in trouble for sitting in the wrong one.

The train shuddered under her as another group of students raced down the hall. Older students brushed past her, knocking into her shoulder more than once on their way. Several students were having loud conversations in the hall, and there was the occasional pop and crackle a spell being cast.

The blonde boy with the clunky camera had been going up to students crowding the hall of the train, poking into individual compartments to ask his question, until he reached Mallory.

And that was how Colin Creevey met Mallory Hopkins on the Hogwarts Express.

Colin gaped at her.

"You don't know? He's supposed to be on the train. He's a year above us and he's _famous!_ I've always wanted to meet him, ever since I learned what he did. I even brought my camera— see? I'm going to get his picture!"

Mallory hesitated, off-footed and skin prickling with discomfort. She didn't know much Wizarding celebrities, but she'd gotten in the habit of trying to find the muggle analogues to Wizarding oddities. She imagined it must be like the members of _Take That_ or _The Stone Roses_ attending her school.

"I'm a muggleborn, I don't—"

"Oh, me too! I'm Colin Creevey."

"Mallory Hopkins. Bit much to take in, yeah?"

"My mum and dad didn't believe Professor McGonagall at first. Thought she was mental."

"Me either. I thought she was one of those government agents, like the ones in _X-Men._"

Colin giggled. "So there's no witches or wizards in your family? Because we think maybe one of my Uncles was a squib."

"No, I don't think so." She frowned. There was a brief but awkward silence.

"Have you been to Diagon Alley?" Colin asked, once it became to awkward to stand in the corridor of a train staring at one another. "It's absolutely amazing. They have brooms that fly, can you believe it?"

"And they actually make potions in cauldrons." Mallory said, a slow grin spreading across her face.

"It's like something out of a storybook— and to think it's real and we're going to a school to learn magic."

"It'll be brilliant."

"Shame Wizards don't have the telly, though."

"Yeah. I asked, and Professor McGonagall said my mix tapes won't work here. I brought my walkman anyway, because she didn't even know what a walkman _was_, so how could she know if it'll work? But she said electricity explodes around magic." Mallory wrinkled her nose.

"Me too. I brought my gameboy. I haven't tried it yet, though."

"We should try when we get to Hogwarts. Bet you it works and they're just saying that because they don't want us playing games in class. The teachers did that at my primary school— they banned bandanas because they said they were gang symbols." Mallory stuffed her free hand into her pocket, pressing her back against the wall as another group of older years shoved past them.

"They don't want us to be distracted from school work. Or maybe they think it's unfair that muggle students can buy walkmans and wizarding kids can't."

"They could just go to the store and buy one." She scowled, glaring back at a few stupid older years who gave her and Colin a filthy look for loitering in the hall.

"My dad said they can't because they're iso— " he frowned, "Iso—something. Solitary? I don't remember the word. But they're on their own and they don't want to join muggle culture. They don't know 'bout walkmans or game boys, so they can't buy them."

"Well, that's stupid."

"Maybe. Anyway, d'you know where you'll end up?"

"Not really." Mallory shrugged. She'd read about the Houses, and thought she might get into Gryffindor, what with her interest in superheroes and becoming a superhero, herself. But she didn't know how they sorted the students. For all she knew, it was random and she'd get her heart set on Gryffindor only to end up disappointed.

"I want to be a Gryffindor," said Colin. "That's where Harry Potter is."

"What's he famous for at twelve, anyway?" Maybe he was some sort of wizarding royalty, like Prince Henry or William. Or he could be some kind of child star on the telly, only wizards didn't have those.

"You mean you don't know?"

"I—" A looming presence cast a shadow over her.

"Aw, ickle firsties." said a red-headed boy. Another red-head, identical to him in every way, looped his arm around Colin and Mallory.

"Real wee ones." said the other.

"Then I suppose it's our duty, Gred."

"Sorry?" Mallory hesitated, skin prickling with discomfort.

"You don't want to go that way." The twin to the left pointed at the back compartments. "And you especially want to avoid the toilets."

"They're vanishing toilets, you see."

"Couple firsties went in one year and they vanished into thin air."

"One was found two months later living in the forest with werewolves. Poor bloke was so traumatized he couldn't remember how to speak."

"Last we heard, he's still in St. Mungo's."

"They've yet to figure out how he ended up out there."

Both twins had wicked grins smeared across their faces, like someone just said the punchline to a witty joke. Mallory glanced at Colin out of the corner of her eye, mentally willing him to play along.

"Really?" she widened her eyes a tad. "But we can't go to the front compartments, either. Someone tried to engorge a cat, but the spell went wrong somehow."

"What?" Colin looked between Mallory and the twins, confused. She talked over him.

"All its hair fell out and it grew giant warts! They're filled with pus and anytime someone tries to catch it they explode. It's disgusting."

"Right Colin?" She nudged him.

"Oh. Yeah. Right." Colin said. He sounded the very opposite of convincing. _Bollocks_.

The twins looked at one another, and then at the two first years. Their faces split into identical grins.

"Almost—"

"—but not quite."

"Well," she shrugged, "it's only my first day." Her face burned with embarrassment.

They ruffled Mallory's hair and went off, presumably to trick more first years into thinking the toilets were jinxed.

Once they were gone, she groaned, smacking her head against the wall. "That was bad." They didn't believe her for a _second._

"Yeah, bit of a mean trick. Why did you tell them that?"

"It's bollocks. The teachers wouldn't put eleven year olds in danger. They were just making it up to scare us."

"Oh, why'd they do something like that?" _Probably because it was funny._ "And anyway, you shouldn't say _that_ word. Mum'd rinse my mouth with soap if I did."

Mallory rolled her eyes. "We need to work on our signals if we're going to be friends."

Danny would've gotten it straight away, and he never cared about her cursing. But he wasn't here, and she felt his absence like a missing limb. Danny had _always_ been there.

"We're friends?"

"Sure, us muggleborns have to stick together." Colin was nice, and at least she knew he wouldn't look down on her for not having magical parents. She remembered hearing about some prejudice against muggleborns, though she'd experienced none so far.

Wizards didn't know what a telly was or how to use a walkman, so they were unlikely to know anything about comic books or music. She didn't have anything in common with these students.

Sticking with Colin seemed safe, and right then she promised herself that she'd try to be in whatever House he was in, if she had a choice.

* * *

The hat had barely touched her hair before it shouted— "SLYTHERIN!" —putting her on the opposite side of the Great Hall from Colin. She sat down at the Slytherin table next to the boy who'd gone before her, Leland Harper. A couple older students nodded towards her, and Harper shook her hand.

The house of the cunning and the ambitious. She wouldn't use those words to describe herself, but she never thought about it in this context before. Then again, it might be ambitious to want to become a hero, if one thought about it like that. Disappointing, though. She'd made a friend and intended to stick by him.

Graham Montague became the sixth new Slytherin, and sat on Harper's other side.

Mallory glanced up at the professors' table. The headmaster looked exactly how she'd imagine a wizard to look. His robes even looked like the Sorcerer's robes from _Fantasia_.

And he was staring at her with a grave expression on his face, all serious and sombre, like dad's face when grandmum died.

Mallory looked away.

Another first year, Darla Rowle, joined Slytherin and sat across from Mallory. One of the older students, a blonde boy with a pointy chin, started a whispered conversation with her.

Finally, after Ginevra Weasley was sorted into Gryffindor, the sorting ceremony concluded. Mallory practically jumped when food appeared on her plate out of thin air. She couldn't wait to write to Danny about this. He'd flip.

Glancing at the Gryffindors, Mallory managed to catch Colin's eye. She gave him thumbs up, and he waved. Maybe they'd have classes together. Just because they were in different houses didn't mean they couldn't talk.

"Did you expect to get into Slytherin?" Asked Rowle, leaning in to hear over the other conversations. The girl's blonde hair fell across her face and she brushed the ringlets back behind her ears.

"Not really, you?" Mallory figured she ought to try to make friends right away, especially if some of the students knew each other beforehand. If she didn't make an effort, they'd go back to their old patterns of friendship and she'd be left out in the cold.

"Don't worry about it, you'll fit right in." Darla Rowle said with an impish grin. "My parents and grandparents were all in Slytherin, so it was pretty much to be expected. What House were your parents in?"

"They didn't go here. So wait, that means you know some of the professors? They look as old as dirt. And I'll bet they taught your parents, too."

"Professor McGonagall did, I think. Professor Snape's pretty new. He's our Head of House. I heard from my cousin he's strict."

The blonde boy with the point chin nodded. "He is, but he's fair. Professor McGonagall's really strict, as well. Flitwick's an imbecile, though. And Dumbledore is an old coot. He hates Slytherins."

"But he's the Headmaster. Doesn't he have to be fair?"

"That's what my father said, but he can't get enough support to get the coot sacked. My father's on the board, you see."

Yes, she did. Hogwarts Houses were like rival football teams, and the Headmaster supported his old team. Pointy-chin's father was influential and rooting for the opposite team. But the Headmaster had more powerful friends than he did. She wasn't sure what a board did, but she knew it must be important if they could sack the Headmaster.

"What's he done to us?"

"He lets the muggleborns get away with anything, just because they don't know any better. And no matter what, he thinks his pet Gryffindors are in the right."

She started feeling a little uncomfortable. "The muggleborns?"

"You know," he lowered his voice, "mudbloods."

"Oh." She felt funny, like her legs were leaden under the bench.

Harper shrugged. "Well, someone has to be on their side. Otherwise the muggleborns wouldn't get any help at all."

"What do they need help with?" Mallory said, trying to inject harmless curiosity into her tone.

"Well, they're not capable of the same kind of magic we are." said Darla Rowle. "It's not their fault, but they don't belong here."

Graham Montague, the boy sitting on Harper's other side, said. "Not to mention, they always smell a bit funny."

Harper snorted.

"I'm not joking, they do. Like petrol or plastics."

"Don't be mean, Monty. They can't help it."

So that was what they meant when they said that wizards discriminated against muggleborns.

"I don't know. It's a bit unfair to generalize, don't you think?" Again, she tried for a light tone, but she didn't think she quite managed it.

The blonde boy with the pointy chin frowned. "What's your last name again?"

Mallory felt sick.

"Hopkins."

"Hopkins? That's not a wizarding name." Said Harper. "Are you a half-blood then?"

She remembered all those moments of being an outsider in the village. And now she didn't even have Danny by her side.

Say yes, tell them she was a half-blood. They'd leave her alone.

But she wasn't ashamed of her parents.

Mallory squared her shoulders.

"No, I'm a muggleborn."

Everyone at the Slytherin table went still. Then a spate of furious whispers began. "That's impossible!"

For a moment, just one moment, Mallory desperately wished she could take it back. _Just kidding! My mother is a witch._

"There's never been a mudblood in Slytherin." said the blonde boy with the pointy chin.

Darla Rowle looked at her like she was some kind of insect. And Harper was discreetly wiping his hand clean on his robe— the hand he'd shaken her's with— and didn't that just sting. She felt a ache rising in her throat and tears stung the corners of her eyes.

Like flicking a switch, the regrets were gone. She would not be friends with these people, she didn't want to be friends with them. She didn't want to speak with them or even be on the same planet as them.

"I'll be the first muggleborn in Slytherin, then."

"—dirty mudblood in _Slytherin_—"

"I'll go to the board! My father will—"

They talked over each other, ignoring her entirely. She seethed.

"—practically as bad as a muggle—"

"It'll bring down the reputation of our house—"

"—bloody creatures of dirt—"

"—next year you'll see five, and then ten, and soon no one will take Slytherin seriously—"

She wasn't putting up with this. She'd go up to McGonagall after the feast and tell her that those redheaded twins spelled the hat, and that it'd all been a terrible mistake. The professor would change her house and then she and Colin would _humiliate_ these bigots.

_Bloody creatures of dirt._ Were they joking? Did they really call people shit like that?

"Shut up, I'm no bloody creature." They ignored her.

She opened her mouth to shout it, but she couldn't produce any sound. For a moment she thought it was just nerves, but then she realized she physically couldn't speak. Someone cast a spell on her.

The pointy blonde-haired boy had his wand out and was grinning. Mallory wanted to punch that stupid grin right off his face.

"Nice one, Draco." said Harper.

She wanted to run— out of the Great Hall and all the way back home— but she didn't. Running meant admitting defeat.

By the end of dinner, most of the professors had left the table. It must've been some kind of emergency, because the professor with greasy black hair— Snape— ran out of the Great Hall cursing about someone crashing a car.

The prefects, Gemma Farley and some boy, Higgs or something, escorted them down into the dungeons. Professor McGonagall wasn't in the Great Hall. She'd ask the professor to switch her house tomorrow. Mallory didn't fancy having to find her way around the castle on her first night here.

It was only one night in the house of snakes. She'd manage the night without punching someone.

That's what she told herself, anyway.

Through the secret door they went— The password was pure-blood. _Seriously._ —and into the cavernous Slytherin common room.

The older students were arranged around the fireplace. Before she could join them, (the dungeons were cold and her fingers were getting quite a chill,) she was stopped by the other first years. A few students formed a rough ring around her.

"Are you really a muggleborn?" asked Pointy-chin. He undid the silencing spell. "Talk."

"Well 'm not gonna lie about it." She scowled.

"Hat's gone barmy. It's never picked a muggleborn before, not ever."

"Bet it's been hexed, only explanation for it."

"You're going to ask Professor Snape to go home. Tonight."

"And if I don't?"

"We'll get you expelled."

"So that's why there aren't any muggleborns in Slytherin." She felt like ice water had been dumped over her head, and could barely keep herself standing still.

"You little bigoted pieces of shit try and intimidate them, yeah? Not because we're unworthy, but because you're all rotten ugly gits who run us off."

"Oh look at this! The foul mudblood speaks." crowed Harper.

"Not with a civilized tongue." said Rowle.

"Obviously not, what did you expect from a mudblood?"

"What, you want me to get creative?" Mallory hissed.

"We want you to go back to the dirty hovel you crawled out of."

"My dad's a doctor, we don't live in a hovel, stupid."

"dock-tor? He works on a dock?"

"He helps people, cures them. That's what good people do, instead of of being ugly bigots."

"No, I like my idea better. He works on a dock by the ocean. Lifts heavy things, a really important job for muggles. Requires all their brainpower, you see?"

"_We don't even live near the ocean!_" She was so angry her words were slurring together.

"Wow, and he's still trying to be a dock-tor? That's so sad. You have to pity those muggles."

"I heard muggle healers cut people open and play with their organs. Is that what your dad does?"

"No, stupid, he's a general practitioner. He treats colds and broken bones."

"Teaches them to what? Light a fireplace? But wait— he can't because he doesn't have a wand."

"You don't need a wand to light a fireplace. And a cold's a virus. It's a type of illness. Don't wizards get sick?"

"Not from muggle sicknesses, we don't. Merlin, don't you know anything?"

"I heard muggles treat broken bones by cutting off limbs."

"That's bollocks and you know it."

"What do you know? You're just some stupid muggle."

"Not a muggle. Muggleborn. There's a difference, idiot."

"One's a jarvey, and the other's a jarvey that might be able to make a few sparks appear out her wand."

"A what did you say?"

"They're like ferrets, only they can talk. They can mimic speech a little bit, like how muggles try to mimic us. But you can't have a real conversation with one 'coz they can't comprehend _real_ intelligent conversation, you see? Just like muggles." Harper's mouth twisted into a grin. "Oh, and they like cursing. A lot like you, really."

Fine then, she'd use the dirtiest word she knew. "Twat."

"'scuse me?"

"I said you're bigoted little twat, you twat." Her face felt like it was on fire and blood rushed in her ears. Her hands were clammy and her skin felt hot. "Your mum's a twat, too. Your whole family is full of them. Bloody ugly ones. And I meant bloody as in the literal sense of the word. And hairy, that too."

"What the fuck?"

"Oh, and you have a twat instead of a penis, just in case you didn't understand what I meant, seeing as how you're ignorant of everything else."

She thought, distantly, that some of the slytherins might be laughing. Those were the worst insults she knew, delivered to the stupid _bigots_ of Slytherin House by the only muggleborn _ever_ to get into their _stupid_ house. She hoped they choked.

"I understood what you meant, you sicko."

She grinned. "Yeah, so? What'll you do about it." The last time she was this angry, Robbie Turner's hair fell out, and her classmates started looking at her like she was a freak. But these kids were magic, and dueling one of them and _winning_ would shut Harper up for a week from shame.

"Alright then. You want a duel? Fine. Let's have a duel. Wand out." Ill-considered move on his part.

She whipped out her wand— spruce wood and dragon heartstring, _unyielding_— but she wasn't going to use it. She didn't know any spells, but he probably didn't either. He was a first year, just like her. He probably got his wand only a couple months ago, and students aren't allowed to practice magic outside Hogwarts.

Mallory hadn't known about this rule until Professor McGonagall showed up at their doorstep. She and Danny had been practicing for years. She'd levitate pencils and light candles with a thought if she only concentrated hard enough. And her magic did unexpected things when she was angry, so all she had to do was avoid getting hit until _something_ happened to him.

That would give her the advantage over Harper, and teach these _arseholes_ what's what.

The older students had migrated over, and all of Slytherin house was watching them.

"Start on three."

"Two."

She let out a breath, she couldn't put herself in the proper headspace in time to levitate anything, she was too angry. So her first move would be to—

"One."

Mallory threw herself to the left, but halfway through the motion she found herself hurtling up into the air. She yelped in surprise, dropping her wand.

Mallory, dangling by her foot over the middle of the common room, swore loudly.

"Like I said, a muggle with a stick does not make a witch."

"Fuck you."

He sent a stinging hex at her.

"Ow. Stupid— put me down!"

"Maybe you should learn to shut up and respect your betters."

"Twat!"

"Silencio!"

She let out a silent shriek of rage. Luckily, her hands were free to make gestures, all of which were undeniably crude and learned from the teenagers that lurk in the not so nice part of South Brent.

Harper just laughed, and sent another stinging hex followed by something that stopped her from being able to move at all.

_Petrificus totalus._

She panicked. She couldn't move, couldn't speak, and there weren't any adults coming to help.

Her breathing rate was the only thing she could control, technically, but she couldn't help but breathe faster. Tears stung her eyes.

"Aw look, she's crying."

_Fuck you._

Darla Rowle sent something that caused her skin to erupt in pain, and internally she shrieked. She couldn't see what was wrong— something was wrong with her skin.

Another spell and she was blind. Terror streaked through her, and she broke into a sweat. Don't let it be permanent. She couldn't be _blind._

Mallory couldn't tell who was attacking her. She wasn't familiar enough with the voices, and she couldn't pay attention because _something was wrong with her skin and she couldn't see._ Her heart felt like it was beating out of her chest and her fingers and toes were ice cold and clammy. Pins and needles prickled down her arms and legs.

She couldn't think. She couldn't _see._

_Stop._ She needed to get control over her breathing. _In and out._ She took a breath. In and out, again. But-

But she felt like she couldn't get in enough air. Oh god, they were going to kill her. They'd done a spell, hadn't they? So she couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe. There was a ball stuck in her throat and she couldn't swallow around it. Something was compressing her chest. There was no air and she was going to die.

A moment of vertigo and then she hit the ground hard on her head. Lights exploded behind her eyelids. A bunch of students were talking over one another, voices angry. Someone shouted.

"Hey! Shut up— Snape's coming, you've had your fun now undo it before you get caught. He's in a real mood tonight."

Barely ten seconds later she could speak, see, and the boils— that was what was wrong with her skin— had vanished.

"Get up." Montague dragged her to her feet and shoved her to the back.

"No mudblood has ever been in Slytherin, and there never will be." Whispered one of the older boys. "Understand? Tomorrow, you beg to leave."

She just nodded, shaking too hard to do anything else.

* * *

Professor Snape might've given a speech, but Mallory wasn't listening. She stumbled into her dorm, following Darla Rowle and a couple other Slytherin girls.

"I'll just—" _sleep here tonight and be out of your hair tomorrow._

"Don't talk to me." said one of the girls.

"You understand right?" said Darla Rowle. "We didn't want to do any of that, but we had to. If we didn't they'd do it to us as well."

Mallory opened her trunk, which was located next to the girl— she didn't know her name— the one who said not to talk to her. She dug out her jammies.

"No I—" _don't have energy for this. Just leave me alone._

"And really, it'd be so much better for you if you went home. You'd be with your own kind, and that's always nice."

Mallory, whose temper was short on any other day but especially this night, slammed her trunk shut.

"Piss off, you stupid bint. I'm tired and I want to go to bed."

"What, are you going to try to duel again? There's no prefects up here, no Professor Snape. Are you sure you want to try that?"

"I'll get better at dueling, and when I do you'll be the first person to find out."

Rowle sighed. "Look, I know what a big deal it is, first witch in the family, but you're not going to get better. It's a sad truth what the Ministry does— they introduce you to this world and tell you you'll fit in, but you won't. You'll never be able to do the kind of magic we can do. You'll never be one of us."

"How about you piss off." Mallory turned around and shoved on her pajamas, perhaps with a bit more force than necessary.

If she was feeling defeated before, she wasn't any longer. Fuck her. She was going to be the best damn witch that nasty bint had ever seen.


	3. The Slytherin Initiation Part 2

Three

_September 2, 1992 (Wednesday)_

She didn't sleep well. Her brain kept replaying the events of the night in an endless cycle. She thought of all the things she could have said to her classmates, all the ways she could've fought back.

In the silence of her dorm room, there was nothing to do but think. Her shoulder twinged each time she shifted in the bed and the back of her head throbbed.

Mallory had taken to shutting her eyes and imagining she was back in South Brent with Danny, flying down the dirt paths on their bikes. She could almost smell the rich scent of fertile soil and honeysuckle. The icy damp of the dungeon became the chill of morning mist on the tip of her nose.

Those images only proceeded to raise a hard lump in her throat. She imagined mum, beckoning her over to the garden to pick weeds out by the hollyhocks. The smell of petrol as she and dad drove to the next town over, windows rolled down to let the cool air rush over sunburnt skin. Sharp stinging cuts on her fingers from holding too tightly to splintered wood while she and Danny were hammering planks together, building their secret clubhouse by the river.

They never did get a chance to finish it before she left for Hogwarts.

Finally asleep, her dreams were spattered with fragments of sneering faces intermixed with the sharp memory of pain.

She woke up drenched in sweat and shaking, a pounding headache behind her temples.

The damp sheets stuck to her legs, restricting her movements and causing a momentary rush of panic. She made a little sound in the back of throat, a sorry attempt to check that she hadn't been silenced in her sleep.

She could move her legs. It was just the sheets. No one had paralyzed her. Mallory leaned back and let out a huff of air, bile rising in her throat. _Scared of her own sheets._ Fuck them.

Her roommates were moving outside the green silk hangings surrounding her bed. And she didn't want them to know she was awake. Mallory slowed her breathing, getting her nerves under control. She couldn't open the hangings while all stinky and damp. If she did they'd know how affected she was by their stunt last night with the levitation charm.

She knelt on her bed and found a dry part of the blanket to wipe off her skin, and shoved the soiled sheets under the quilt. She hoped that'd mask the sweaty smell.

The mechanical watch her mum had given her read 7:48 AM. Classes started at 9, so she had plenty of time to wait for her dorm mates to leave. She itched to get out of bed and stomp past them proudly. This was her dorm, too, no matter what Darla Rowle said. Mallory had been chosen by the hat to be a member of Slytherin House.

They hadn't intimidated her with their stupid prank last night. She was tougher than that.

Only, she wasn't— she couldn't make her arms and legs cooperate. And the thought of facing them so early in the morning turned her stomach. She wasn't prepared for a confrontation.

Twenty minutes of feeling like a giant coward passed at a crawl, until the dorm was finally quiet. She poked her head out of the silk hangings. Two beds were empty, but the other one had her hangings still drawn.

The dorm was awash in greenish light. Last night she'd thought it was just the tint off the green silk hangings, but she was wrong.

The Slytherin dungeon was under the Black Lake.

Their windows looked out into the the water. Greenish light filtered down through the murk, bathing their dorm in an eerie glow. It was possibly the coolest thing ever, like the lair of a supervillain or an aquarium.

A dark shape passed in front of the window, momentarily leaving the room pitch black. She grinned. The Slytherins definitely had style, she'd give them that.

Showering helped, and she put on her favorite pair of jeans and t-shirt under her robes. She felt weird about wearing the flimsy robes over her underthings. It felt like walking around half-naked, because the robes were so baggy.

The school didn't say what to wear under their robes, so she guessed it was alright to wear proper clothes under them. They also didn't specify what kind of shoes the students had to wear. Mallory took that as an invitation to wear her usual pair of scuffed-up trainers.

Professor Snape hadn't handed out their timetables yet, so she wasn't sure which books to bring to class. She tossed her journal, a notebook, and some pencils into her bag and called it a day. If she got bored, she could start drafting a letter to Danny in her journal. There was no way she'd haul heavy textbooks around a castle, not unless the professors explicitly told her to do it.

Mallory walked towards the common room, only to halt in her tracks at the entrance.

She hadn't really thought about it until now, seeing the rest of Slytherin, again. They'd seen her humiliated. For the next seven years she'd be having classes with Harper, the kid who'd dangled her upside down and hexed her in front of everyone.

A weight settled on her chest. This was so much worse than South Brent.

In non-magical Britain, no one outside the village knew she had a speech impediment as a child. If she'd grown up in London, she would've switched schools and that'd be the end of it. But in a little village like South Brent?

Back when she was in Reception, four or five years old, she had a lisp. Two doctors and speech therapy fixed it, but by then it was too late. To this day whispers followed her wherever she went, even into the grocer's when she went shopping with mum.

She knew that outside the village no one would be calling her backwards or developmentally challenged. No one would ask if her mum did drugs while she was pregnant. They wouldn't know to say it. The second she left the village, she was home free.

Mallory thought Hogwarts would be different.

But not one single person in Slytherin House told Harper to stop. She knew that didn't mean everyone hated muggleborns. No one wanted to be the first to step forward and face the ire of those casting their curses. Maybe most of the kids who stood silent thought it was wrong, but believed they were alone in in their disapproval.

Or maybe not. Perhaps they all stood silent because they all wished Mallory would go away. Disgust in their eyes at her defiance, disgusted by her blood.

Another House might not be so bad.

But if she did ask to transfer Houses, the Slytherins would think she was doing it because of what they'd done. They'd think they'd intimidated her into it. And they'd be right.

Worse, there was no guarantee the other Houses were any less biased than Slytherin. She didn't know enough to say one way or the other. When her new House found out she _ran_ from Slytherin, they'd think her a coward, regardless.

Of course, there was always the option of going to the professors and telling them what happened last night. However, in her experience, professors just slapped the bullies on the wrist. Then you got a reputation as a tattletale and they really start picking on you. Which was exactly why she was tempted to stay in Slytherin and say nothing about the incident to anyone, even though she'd be miserable.

Mallory could leave the school, but that would be even worse. She was _magic_— Real Magic, like something out of a storybook. She wouldn't be writing home to tell mum she wanted to leave. No way, not her.

Fine. So that was it, then. She was staying in Slytherin House. Now she just had to convince herself to step into the common room. No big deal.

She felt like throwing up.

Change tracks, then. After class she'd dig into her trunk and try out her walkman. And then when it worked, she'd turn the volume all the way up while playing _Black Sabbath_. She bet these purebloods never heard _that_ before.

The thought didn't help.

Okay, fine. After class she'd grab her walkman and her _X-Men_ comics and head outside to sit by the Black Lake to read. Maybe she'd hunt down Colin and see if he liked comic books, too. She forgot to ask yesterday. She'd get through classes, and then she'd have hours of time to herself with no mum lecturing her to read real books, and no dad telling her to straighten up her room.

That was it. She could do this.

Mallory squared her shoulders and stepped into the common room.

One or two older kids glanced over at her when she walked in, but returned to their conversations. There were only a few kids in the room. The pointy blonde haired kid was having an impassioned rant with his two goons. He was talking loudly, but his two lugs weren't audible over the hum of conversation.

"A car! He flew a car to school— no, they're not supposed to fly— he's obviously just doing it for the attention."

Flying cars? _Witches and Wizards had flying cars?_

"Stupid Potter. Spotted by muggles, too. Guess it's not enough to have the magical world worship him—"

Right. Nevermind. Who cared about celebrities when there were flying cars? _Actual flying cars!_ She wondered if Colin knew already. Probably, because Potter was his hero or something. This was definitely going into her letter to Danny.

Wizards had flying cars. It was like the future, only with magic.

Just then a herd of older boys stomped into the common room. Mallory's face froze mid-grin.

The boys didn't look in her direction, not even once. For that matter, they didn't even look healthy. Their skin had a grayish hue and they had dark circles under their eyes like they hadn't slept. She recognized one of them as one of the boys who'd sneered at her last night.

The two older boys who'd glanced up when she entered the common room waved the others over. Mallory let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.

"Merlin. What'd you two do last night?"

She decided to take that as a sign to get out of the Common Room before anyone stopped her.

"Seriously? It's the first day of class. What'd you do, mix it with– "

She slipped out the stone door before he finished his sentence.

The dungeon corridors were uniform gray stone, rough and damp. Each footstep echoed down the empty halls.

Mallory wasn't about to wait for someone to guide her to the Great Hall for breakfast. The whole point was to avoid the other Slytherins, not seek them out. Luckily, she was pretty sure the secret entrance to the Common Room was to the right last night, so she went left.

Five minutes later she wasn't so confident.

Mallory ought to have reached a staircase by now, but the corridor showed no signs of ending. Instead, it extended far into the distance, candlelight dimming when she tried to focus on the end.

She shoved her hands under her armpits. The dungeons were cold, even in September. She didn't understand how witches and wizards did it, wearing nothing under their robes.

Another minute or so of walking down the corridor and she realized the end of the hallway looked no closer than it had well over six minutes ago. Maybe she had a concussion?

Mallory gently prodded the back of her head. It stung and throbbed. She grimaced. But then, she'd gotten concussions before and never—

Stupid. This was a school of magic. Maybe the corridor was magic, or something. She turned around and—

_A moment of disorientation_

— she was in a hallway with tall windows, sunlight streaming in, warming stone. A couple students were walking past her, older years. Mallory ignored them and took a hesitant step towards the window, peeking out.

She was several stories up, looking down on the Quidditch pitch. Right. Magic hallway. How did that even— she'd been under the lake before! It was too odd, weird and a little scary.

The older students were gone, but a portrait on the wall was having a conversation with its neighbor.

"Hullo." Mallory said.

"Oh hello dearie. Is there something you need?"

"I'm a first year. And it's my first day. I want to go to get breakfast. Would you tell me where that is, please?"

The woman in the painting blinked behind her glasses.

"You're lost, dearie?"

"Yeah."

"Oh that's such a shame! I remember my first day. I got lost twice on the way to breakfast, and that vanishing stair swallowed my whole foot. It was terribly embarrassing."

"Did you get it back?"

"Pardon?"

"Did you get your foot back?"

The woman tittered behind her fan. "What are they teaching you dears these days? Now, you're on the second floor. Keep going in that direction and you'll reach the Grand Staircase. Can you find your way from there?"

"Yeah, thanks."

The Grand Staircase was a massive structure. What looked like tons of staircases were moving unsupported by anything, randomly shifting positions. It was like a death trap straight out of _Indiana Jones._

Another group of older students were passing her. She followed them onto the stairs before she could change her mind.

At the second staircase down, they all jumped over one step. Mallory didn't, and found half of her leg sunken into the stair for her trouble. She squeaked out a "Help!" and one of the older years gave her a hand out.

The older students, who were third-year Ravenclaws, turned out to be very helpful. They cheerfully doled out generous helpings of advice on which hallways to avoid and where the traps were. Apparently, there was a room on the fifth floor that vanished on Mondays and Wednesdays, and the bathroom walls on the seventh floor oozed orange goo on alternating Sundays. But the goo came out of clothes with the application of vinegar and a few spells found in the library, so it was okay.

* * *

The Great Hall's ceiling reflected a cloudy sky, dark gray hinting at rain later in the day. Mallory was unnerved. Two floors up the sky looked clear blue with sunshine. Hogwarts was weird.

Slytherin table was almost full, and Mallory squeezed herself into an empty space at the end of the table. She sipped her pumpkin juice, which was surprisingly sweet and just a little spicy, and wolfed down a proper breakfast.

No one spoke to her, but that was fine. She wasn't up to speaking with them, either. An older student, maybe a sixth or seventh year, was sitting next to her and having a loud conversation with friend.

"...was plain stupid, and that's final."

"He was fine when he taught muggle studies. There was no homework and he spent the whole class rambling on about some ancient muggle war. It was just like History of Magic, only he wasn't a ghost."

"Like I said, bloody awful."

"No, I'm telling you, it was that trip to Albania that did him in."

A third student, a girl with brown hair, chimed in. "Or maybe he had a reason to go all mental. Think about it— the garlic, the paranoia— I'll bet he brassed off a bunch of vampires, and ran to escape them once he heard they were in town."

"Oh come off it. Hogwarts is one of the safest— "

"Not with bleeding Dumbledore in charge."

"Well, if it was so safe then why'd he leave halfway through the year?"

"The curse, obviously."

"Something'll happen at the end of the year, sure. But no one's left during winter holidays before."

"Speaking of, what do you expect will happen to Lockhart? Anyone started up a betting pool yet?"

Mallory took a bite of her toast.

The empty seat next to her, which had been previously and mercifully vacant, was now filled by none other than Darla Rowle.

Mallory took another bite of her toast.

"Hello, Mallory. Are you alright?"

She swallowed the bite of toast and narrowed her eyes at Rowle.

"I'm just coming over because we wanted to make sure you knew where Professor McGonagall's office is, to switch houses, you know?"

The seventh year girl who'd been talking looked over and snorted. "You can't switch houses."

"She's a muggleborn. There's never been a muggleborn in _Slytherin_ before. They'll make an exception for that."

"And they've never allowed a student to switch houses before, either. Forget it, Rowle."

Darla Rowle frowned at her, and turned back to Mallory. "Well then, you'll just have to ask to go home."

"No."

Rowle sighed. "I wish you'd rethink your decision."

"Nope." Said Mallory, eating another bite of toast.

Rowle scowled and opened her mouth to say something else. Mallory was about to smother the girl in her soggy breakfast if it weren't for the unearthly howling that erupted from the other side of the Great Hall.

"_RONALD WEASLEY! HOW DARE YOU STEAL THAT CAR—_ "

A red-haired boy at the Gryffindor table was turning a violent shade of puce as bright as his hair while an animated letter screeched at him.

"_—ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED — YOUR FATHER'S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK—_"

There was a moment of utter silence in the Great Hall, before everyone burst out laughing. By the time the whispers and giggling had died down, Darla Rowle was gone.

The other Slytherin who'd spoken up about switching houses gave Mallory a pensive look. Actually, Mallory recognized her. She was the prefect from last night, Gemma Farley.

"You ought to have just told her that you would leave."

"But I'm not."

"I figured as much, but it'd buy you time. They'll get over it eventually, they just need time to adjust. And then you could tell them that— oh, that you'd gone to the professors, but they didn't let you go home. Then they'll blame it on Dumbledore and leave you in peace."

"Clever, but that's really not the point."

"I'd worry about survival first, and making a point later, if I were you."

Mallory shrugged, and went back to her toast.

Professor Snape glided down from the professor's table, carrying with him a stack of timetables.

Potions, Herbology, Flying Class, and Astronomy. Mallory's heart sank when she read her's. It wasn't that the classes were boring. Flying on broomsticks looked neat, and potions sounded like something out of a storybook, but—

She'd been banking on going to two or three classes, and then having the rest of the day to herself. If the classes were all in a row, she could just follow her classmates to the next one.

There was a big gap between Herbology and Flying, and another big gap between Flying and Astronomy. Astronomy was at midnight. It was a little thing, having to keep checking her watch for the time, but it didn't feel that way today.

Sometimes hours felt like only minutes when she was doing things she enjoyed, and she could get so wrapped up in something that she'd forget to check her watch. Danny was usually the one that reminded her when they ought to go. She didn't know how he did it. It was like he had a clock built right into his brain.

Breakfast was over, and the students were getting out of their seats, milling about before ending conversations and wandering in the direction of the entrance. Mallory followed behind Rowle and the other first year Slytherins. She stayed a few paces behind, wary of them noticing her.

She shifted her bag from one shoulder to the other. Her left shoulder was still aching from when she hit the ground last night.

A moment of disorientation and she lurched forwards, chin smacking onto the stone floor. There was a smattering of giggles. Mallory blinked. Right, she'd been tripped.

She picked herself up off the ground, grimacing at her stinging palms.

Her Housemates were already walking away, glancing back every moment or so, giggling. Mallory scowled at them and brushed off her robes. Arseholes.

She stomped past them, glaring. She'd be fine. There were directions scrawled on her timetable. If other people could sort them out, then so could she, nevermind the vanishing stairs and unending hallways.

* * *

The potions classroom was dimly-lit and smelled of chemicals. Along the walls there were shelves of bottles and dried plants. Preserved animals peered out with lidless eyes from the confines of their jars. Mallory looked away.

Colin was sitting towards the back on the right side of the classroom. Mallory made a beeline towards him.

"Mallory!" His face, which had before been pale and a little green, lit up the moment he saw her.

"All right?"

"All right. Did you hear about Snape?" He hissed.

"No, why?" she frowned. "He's strict?"

"Beastly, I heard. Completely biased to Slytherin." he blinked. "Not that I have anything against Slytherin, mind, but you should've heard some of the stories! He's a nightmare."

She shrugged, and sat down next to him. "How's Gryffindor treating you? Has anyone ragged on you for being muggleborn?"

"No, not at all. Everyone's been great. Did you know I got to meet Harry Potter? He drove a flying car to school. It was wicked! And he almost got _expelled_."

"Yeah I heard. There was some pointy-chinned prick talking about it in the common room. But anyway, no one's said anything to you about being muggleborn?"

"Well, no, I mean, a few of them asked me some really stupid questions like, you know, 'what's a telephone?' and 'how do muggles keep their food preserved without magic?' But besides that they were great. They showed me warming charms for my robes, and how to tie my shoes with magic, and how to brush my hair with magic— they've all known how to do it since they were kids. It's really weird, 'coz I thought we all had to wait to get our wands when we turn eleven, but turns out they were all using their great-grandparents' wands for years. But it's okay, because they said they'd help me catch up."

Mallory felt an ugly, hot feeling growing in her throat but she swallowed it down.

"Neat! You'll have to show me those spells." If the words came out funny, Colin didn't notice.

"Sure, and then you can show me what they Slytherins taught you. It'll be a trade."

"They didn't. But I found out there's a spell you can use to give someone boils."

"That's awful. Why'd you want to do that?"

"Well, I wouldn't. I'm just saying I heard of it." Experienced it, more like.

Professor Snape stalked into the classroom with a bang, slamming the door shut behind him as he glared down the aisles of students. His gaze lingered on Mallory for a moment, before he spun around and started lecturing them in sharp tones.

The first five minutes of class were interesting, but then it turned boring fast. Mallory liked the idea of potions. They sounded wicked, but the process of making them looked to be both boring and difficult.

She fidgeted in her chair, glancing at her watch. Class wouldn't be over for a while, so she got out her journal and started crafting a letter to Danny while listening to Professor Snape with one ear.

Mallory's first act as a witch had been to break the Statute of Secrecy. She'd spent all summer bragging to Danny about how she was going to a secret magic school, and when Mallory bought her books, they'd both poured through them.

Mallory had wanted to practice some of the spells, but mum had confiscated her wand the day they bought it. Professor McGonagall went with them into Diagon Alley and told mum that absolutely no magic was to be practiced outside school. Mum knew Mallory well enough to hide the wand instead of trusting her to obey the rules.

That didn't stop her or Danny from trying to find it, though they were unsuccessful. They did discover that dad had been gambling again, and that mum had a couple bottles of vodka tucked away in the back of the car.

Attempting to blackmail either of her parents failed in spectacular fashion. She was grounded, and Mallory's mum told Danny's mum to ground Danny as well, since he was the mastermind of that particular plot.

After that, they'd mucked about with potions. Unfortunately, none of the ingredients could be found in the shops, and replacing things like "knotgrass" with plain grass from the yard didn't work.

Danny promised to write her twice a week, and wanted to know all the details— because if he wasn't allowed to go to the cool adventure school, then he'd at least want to read about it.

_Dear Danny,_ _My classmates are terrible. I want to come home._

She scratched that page out, crumpled it up, and tossed it into her bag. It made her sound like a baby.

Then, all the background noise, also known as Professor Snape's lecture, ceased.

Mallory looked up—

— and found Professor Snape staring straight back at her.

"Miss Hopkins," he paused, "you will not interrupt my class again, do you understand?"

There was an awkward silence before Mallory realized he was waiting for an answer.

"Sorry, Professor."

He went back to lecturing them on the cure for boils, though his gaze lingered on her every time she looked up. It was nerve wracking.

She scrawled in a few notes on the cure for boils. Porcupine quills, if used incorrectly, would somehow make it blow up. And it'd give people boils instead of getting rid of them.

"Yes, Mr. Harper?"

"May I be excused?"

Snape scowled. "If you aren't back in five minutes, I will mark you absent for the day's lesson."

"Yes, sir."

When he walked past Mallory's desk, he kicked over her bag and hissed "Mudblood!"

Colin spun around in his seat, gaping at him. Mallory nudged him with her elbow and hissed at him to be quiet. Last thing she needed was Snape to blame _them_ for causing another disruption.

Snape, fortunately, was writing down directions on the board, and hadn't noticed. Mallory went back to her letter. The bottom half of her page was devoted to it. Mallory didn't feel confident enough in her ability to fool Snape to keep her journal out on her desk.

She didn't want to tell Danny about the bullies. He'd feel bad that he couldn't be there to help her. But she didn't want to make the magical school seem too great, either, because then he'd feel left out of the fun.

_Dear Danny,_ _Magic is neat, but kinda hard. The potions teacher is strict. The school divides the students into four groups, and my group has a snake mascot. I found out flying cars are real, and the friend I made on the train was sorted into another House. It's rotten, because my house is—_

Colin nudged her arm and whispered, "I'm really your friend?"

Mallory froze.

"Sure." she muttered.

"Cool!" he whispered back.

She felt a knot in her uncoiling. Colin might actually end up being a real friend. Well, so long as he learned to stop reading over her shoulder. Suddenly she really hoped he hadn't read her first letter.

She stopped writing the letter and doodled a bit on the corner of her page. Snape was still talking. She checked her watch. Ten more minutes. The time couldn't pass fast enough.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a shape approaching, but it was too late. Harper made an exaggerated show of tripping, _coincidentally_ knocking her notebook off of her desk. Snape stopped lecturing.

"Mr. Harper, collect yourself and return to your seat. Miss Hopkins, clean up the mess on the floor."

"But Professor! She tripped me!"

"Would you like me to deduct points from Slytherin, Mr. Harper?"

Harper blanched.

"Miss Hopkins, one more interruption and you will receive a detention."

"Yes, Professor."

Mallory picked up her notebook, brushed it off, and returned to her desk. She itched to tell Professor Snape after class that Harper had knocked all her books off her desk, and that he'd attacked her with magic the night before, but then they'd feel justified when they escalated the bullying.

She was on her own, here. There was no Danny to back her up, but by the same logic there was no Danny to get hurt if things went wrong.

On that note, who cared if they felt justified? They were bullies, and the professors should know it, and so should her classmates.

She was the girl who stood up to bullies in South Brent. Mallory planned on being a proper real-life superhero when she grew up. If she couldn't handle a few stupid bigots, then what was she even good for?

Class ended, and Mallory confirmed plans with Colin to go over some of the spells he learned later that day after lunch. Then she waited for the class to clear out before stalking up to Professor Snape's desk.

"Professor Snape, I want to report a case of bullying."

He put down the stack of papers he was leafing through and looked up. "Report it, then. But if it is some minor case of squabbling over name calling, then you are wasting my time."

"Are we allowed to use spells on each other? Like, say someone dangled me upside down, threw a bunch of stinging hexes at me, paralyzed me, and blinded me with magic. Would that be a minor case of squabbling?"

"No." He put down his stack of papers. "You're reporting that this happened to you?"

"Yes. And this morning Harper knocked over my books when he pretended to fall, and called me a mudblood."

"I see."

"And they've threatened that if I don't quit Hogwarts or switch houses they'll hurt me more."

"This sounds all very dramatic, but do you have any proof that they've behaved in this manner?"

"My shoulder's banged up, and so's my head. _They dropped me on it._"

"Unfortunately, that is proof of nothing, Miss Hopkins. For all I know you tripped."

"Right." the backs of her eyes burned a little. "Would you at least keep an eye out? If you see something, that'd be proof."

"Miss Hopkins, I have enough impositions on my time without monitoring the petty squabbles of first year students." He picked up his papers again, and she was dismissed.

* * *

Mallory spent Herbology fuming. Snape was an utter piece of shit. She hoped he got his face smashed in some day. As for the bullies? Well, Mallory had an idea. She and Danny had looked through her textbooks over the summer, and they had talked about the pranking potential for a number of the spells and potions. If she practiced enough, she might be able to deter them from bothering her.

Her experience with bullies was limited in South Brent. Classmates had called her names, sure. And on one memorable occasion, Robbie Turner punched her in the nose. But it was only a few of them, like the Turner twins and their friends. Once her parents got involved, the majority of the bullying ebbed off.

Sure, the Turner Twins glared at her and said some nasty things, like that her mum should've aborted her, or that she was a spaz, but Danny and Mallory would fire right back at them. And if anything got too intense, a teacher would usually step in and tell them to clear off.

Those were the rules in which Mallory, Danny, and the Turner twins operated, and those rules prevented anything too awful from happening to any of them.

Hogwarts was a whole different story. This was like living with Richard and Robbie Turner around the clock, only worse.

Herbology, at least, was in the greenhouses. Unfortunately, the Gryffindors weren't with them this time, so no Colin. The Hufflepuffs were nice, though. Professor Sprout was a far cry from Snape. It was also a relief to not be sitting in a stuffy classroom. The smell of dirt and grass reminded her of home.

In spite of that, she was ready to kick someone by the time Herbology was over. Harper continued his little fun fest, knocking her pot of dirt over and smacking into her shoulder whenever he walked past her. Professor Sprout made them both go sit on opposite sides of the greenhouse as to not disrupt one another, even though Harper was the one doing the disrupting, not her.

On her way to lunch, Rowle stopped her.

"Are you going to leave Hogwarts, now? There's still time, you know."

So that was her game. Have her little minions annoy Mallory until she cried uncle. _Well._

Mallory flashed Rowle a winning grin. "Not on your life."

She bounced on her toes with glee when Rowle's almost-hopeful expression crumpled into distaste. Mallory was thwarting a villain, all proper-like with banter and everything.

And make no mistake, Rowle was a supervillain. After all, the girl _did_ have superpowers. Granted, Mallory didn't think she wanted Rowle as her arch-nemesis.

She'd always imagined it'd be someone cooler, a _Doctor Doom_ or _Magneto_. Rowle was a spoiled brat too used to getting her own way. Bit pathetic, really.

Darla Rowle sighed. "Look, I'm trying to help you. Let's just be realistic, here. You know they won't stop until you leave. Is magic worth all this? I mean, I know it is but you've hardly been here for a day. If you leave now you'll hardly know what you're missing."

Mallory glared. "I'm not quitting Hogwarts, especially not because of you."

"Oh, that's what it is." Rowle grimaced. "So, you were picked for Slytherin, and you are a muggleborn. That means you must be cunning and ambitious, right? I mean, for the hat to ignore your blood."

"Guess you should just get over yourself, then, if that's what you think."

"No, I meant, you must respect cleverness and self-preservation. And you know we'd respect you more if you left, because staying here just means getting hurt until you can't stand it anymore."

"Right. That's definitely what you'd believe. Or maybe you'd just think how funny it was how you tricked the muggleborn into running home to her mummy."

"No, we'd respect you you left. You'd be showing us you know your place, that you respect tradition and order."

"Go fuck yourself, Rowle."

And with that, Mallory stomped off to the Slytherin table. Unfortunately, that was where Darla was headed as well. It made it more difficult to make a dramatic exit.

She sat down next to a different bunch of older years, maybe seventh years; they looked pretty old. The student next to her had put down his paper (something called _The Daily Prophet_.) Bored, she picked it up and started leafing through it.

Mallory needed a distraction from Rowle's words before she went over there and socked the girl right in the nose.

There were moving pictures, like the portraits lining the Grand Staircase, but they didn't seem like they were aware of themselves. She reckoned they were more like videos stuck on repeat.

The older Slytherin's friend nudged him and gestured towards Mallory. The boy whose paper she'd been reading looked over at her.

"Sorry." She paled.

"I'm done with it." the boy shrugged and returned to his conversation.

Well, it seemed not all Slytherins were completely terrible, then.

The paper was boring and more than a little strange. Mostly because she didn't understand what they were talking about.

It wasn't all confusing. There were some parts that made sense. _"Bathilda Bagshot missing since last week from her home in Godric's Hollow!_" was plain enough, but then there were paragraphs like this:

_"A reminder that Occlumency is And has been illegal Since 1752. All books And papers containing information On 'Occlumency,' Or the words 'Occlumency,' Or the words 'Occlumens,' should Be Brought to the Improper Use of Magics Office for immediate Burning. If Someone You Know is an occlumens, or talks About occlumency, please Report it to the Improper Use of Magics Office. Failure to do so will result in a stay at Azkaban."_

She wanted to ask someone what Occlumency was and why it was banned, but the paper said talking about occlumency would result in some kind of punishment (the word "Azkaban" sounded ominous,) so she didn't want to risk it.

The front page was almost funny. "_The Invisibility Task Force reminds You that it is inadvisable to talk Loudly about Magic at King's Cross Station. We Heard you, and so did the muggles. Thank You for your cooperation._"

According to this, flying cars were completely illegal. And the red head's dad, the one who's mum sent him a screaming red letter, had one in his garage. He was in all sorts of trouble, and everyone was terribly amused about the whole thing, since the father was supposed to be one of the ones stopping people from mucking about with muggle technology.

It was a bummer about the car, though. She would have liked a flying car.

Mallory finished her lunch, with more of the strange but tasty pumpkin juice, and went back to the dorm to get her walkman.

She and Colin were going to try out their electronics and practice some spells. He also mentioned a group of muggleborn students that meet every Friday, so that looked to be a plus.

She sort-of remembered the path back to the common room, but she asked another portrait, just in case.

* * *

As it turned out, she didn't need to worry about which blank stone wall was the enterance. Darla Rowle, Leland Harper, and Graham Montague were standing outside the door in a rough semicircle, giggling over something.

She froze.

It was her trunk, and it was on fire.

She wouldn't have known it was her trunk, except for that it'd been upturned all over the stone floor of the corridor, and she recognized her things strewn across the floor.

They hadn't stopped at upturning it and lighting the actual trunk on fire. Her comic books were shredded. The walkman was smashed to pieces, and her clothes and robes were likewise destroyed.

They were watching her, waiting for a reaction. The Watchmen comic books were Danny's. He gave them to her as a going away present. She clenched her jaw so hard her teeth ached.

She didn't quite feel like it was happening.

Tossed under one of her texts was a tuft of familiar black and white fur. Nibbles, her panda. It was nearly headless, fluff scattered on the stone floor. She ignored Rowle and the others, reaching for him, hand shaking. Someone said a spell and her panda went flying out of reach.

More laughter. Her throat felt thick. Again, panda, but it was knocked away, tossed down the hall spewing fluff.

Enough. She stomped over her things, standing right in front of Rowle, nose-to-nose. For a second she imagined punching her. Rowle fingered her wand, nervous.

"Don't you think I'll forget this. A week from now you'll wish you'd never touched my things."

She spun around to walk away. Mallory wasn't going to give them a reaction. They were doing this to humiliate her, to scare her back to her home.

Rowle snorted, and then started laughing.

Within a split second, Mallory's fist was cracking across Darla's nose. She staggered and squealed, clutching her face. Harper and Montague let out startled shouts. Mallory used their surprise to punch Darla in the stomach, snatch the girl's wand out of her hand, and throw it to the floor.

A spell blindsided her, and Mallory's head smashed into the wall with a sickening crack. She let out a hoarse scream, stunned, vision going black around the edges.

"One of the professors will have heard that." Harper said.

Mallory fought back nausea from her place on the floor. She'd fallen on the floor. _When..?_ She needed to get out of the corridor, find a professor or an older student who wasn't a Slytherin.

"Don't tell me you're backing out, coward." Darla drawled, as much as the girl could drawl through a bleeding nose.

If Mallory was going to do something, she needed to do it now, while they were distracted. Mallory shifted her arm under her, leveraging herself up against the stone wall. She jolted when the movement sent burning pain down her shoulder.

"Oh no you don't. You're not going anywhere—" Darla picked her wand up off the ground.

Mallory's eyes settled on Harper. He was fidgeting, eyeing both ends of the corridor like a professor was going to come at any second. The weak link.

She sucked in a deep breath, ignoring the way chest protested at the movement.

"AAAAAAAAAH—!" Mallory screamed, high and loud, the noise echoing in the empty stone corridors.

"Shut her up!"

"Shit, don't be stupid, run!" Harper yelled before running off himself down the hall. He was around the corner and gone before she'd even blinked.

One down.

Montague looked between Darla and Harper, face all twisted up like he was constipated—come on _come on_ you know you want to go. Run away you fucking coward, _go!_ —before chasing after Harper.

"Wait up!" he shouted, turning the corner, out of sight.

Two down. Just Rowle left. Rowle alone, hand cupped around her bleeding nose, face twisted in pain. Clenched in her other hand was her wand. Damn. Should've snapped it when she had the chance.

Adrenaline wasn't helping, narrowing her focus to Rowle and Rowle alone, making it hard to think. Mallory's head throbbed with every heartbeat and her shoulder hurt so much she had to fight down the instinct to tense up every time she took in a breath. Shouting had aggravated it.

Rowle was talking. White noise drowned out by Mallory's involuntary gasps of pain. Breathe in. Breath out. Flinch halfway through and whimper. Something was trickling down her forehead. Blood.

Mallory reached up with the arm that wasn't hurting, gently touching the side of her head and—

She gagged, doubled over. _There was a piece of—_ breathe in through the nose— _bone sticking—_ don't think about it don't think about itdon'tthinkaboutit—

Rowle's face appeared right in her line of vision, hand removed from her nose. Mallory jerked back. The girl was grinning, blood smeared across her teeth, coloring them pink. She had to get away— _her skull—_ don'tthinkaboutit—

She needed to get away from her. If Rowle tried tossing her around in the state Mallory was in, she might— _don't think about it._ Mallory got her arm under her, leaning against the stone wall, trying to leverage herself up.

Her ankle let out a sharp protest when she shifted it, and Mallory let out another involuntary groan of pain, eyes sliding from Rowle. Focus on breathing.

"Hey! Hey, what's wrong with you?" Ears ringing, but she could hear Rowle's voice, rising towards panic.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Don't flinch; do it slowly. Come on, you're fine. You're fine. Breathe, you're fine.

Good. With everything still, the only movement being her breathing, the pain went from a staggering eleven to a solid seven. Mallory's eyes flicked to Rowle, who'd stopped grinning and had gone pale, leaning over Mallory.

Mallory let out another groan, this time playing it up. Rowle grimaced, looking nervous. There weren't any older students to fix the damage, and she suspected this hadn't occurred to Rowle until just now.

Then she got a really stupid idea. If it got rid of Rowle—

Before her body could tense in anticipation, Mallory let her arm go out from under her, sliding to the ground. Her head thunked against the cold stone.

Mallory's vision went white and she _screamed_.

Shit, this was such a bad idea. But past the haze of pain she heard Rowle's feet smacking against the stone, running away.

It worked. She'd gambled and it worked.

Rowle was gone.

Mind blissfully blank, she focused on breathing slowly, fighting down the nausea that was bubbling in her throat. Give it a few minutes. She just needed a few minutes, and she'd be okay. She'd get up— she needed to get up. Her things were on fire.

Just another minute. She'd get up.

* * *

-The quote from the Howler is taken from _The Chamber of Secrets._


	4. The Slytherin Initiation Part 3

Four

Mallory's eyes snapped open. She hadn't realized she'd closed them. The gritty stone of the dungeon floor pressed against her cheek and she grimaced. Still cold. If she'd passed out, it couldn't have been for long.

Her arm was squished under her ribs, chest burning and shoulder going numb. Numb was good. Probably couldn't use her arm to support her weight, though.

She stretched out her legs and rolled onto her stomach, avoiding jostling her ankle. The sudden movement sent blood rushing to her head and she groaned. Dizziness. Her chest was compressed, which upped the pain a bit each time she took a breath, but the weight was off her shoulder. It hurt, but she was thinking past it.

Someone might come. She was right outside the Slytherin common room. Someone might come and hurt her more. Her things were burning and she needed to get up.

She rolled, awkwardly, levering herself up with the uninjured arm. She was on her knees, then, upright.

Shuffling on her knees back to the wall, she used her good arm to brace herself against the wall. Tentatively, she put a little weight on her ankle to see if it'd hold. It twinged, but otherwise held. Good. That was good.

She deliberately did not reach up to check the cracked in her skull, with a piece of bone— _don't think about it_. If she thought about it, she'd throw up. Besides, she was standing, moving, thinking— if she could do that, then it couldn't be that bad. It probably felt worse than it was. _It's fine._

Mallory limped to her trunk, snatching up one of her ripped t-shirts to douse the crackling fire consuming her comic books and new witch's robes. The t-shirt was tossed over the flames.

She cursed when it promptly caught on fire.

Mallory stomped on the burning t-shirt, grinding the heel of her trainer into the fabric. Yelping as a flicker of flame seared her shin through the jeans, she jerked back. She hopped on one foot, lifting up her robes to inspect the damage.

The leg of her jeans wasn't on fire, but a spot the size of an egg on the fabric was discolored. When she put her foot down, the jeans rubbed against the skin of her shin. She hissed in pain.

Hopping around had her head throbbing again, chest and shoulder complaining in tandem. She wobbled, but kept her feet under her. Focus.

Fuck it, she needed to get this fire sorted. A few more ginger stomps and the flames fizzled out.

Brushing aside the ruined t-shirt with her foot, she stared down at the embers. Her books were blackened, comic books curled and crumbling from the heat. Flakes of singed paper had worked their way into the laces of her sneakers. She clenched her jaw so hard the veins on her neck stood out.

Mallory exhaled slowly. Now was not the time. She walked over to where they'd tossed her panda and scooped him up, clutching him to her chest. Nibbles was a little singed but mum could fix him with some needle and thread. The rest of her belongings weren't so lucky. The comic books that hadn't been burned were shredded. And her walkman lie smoking on the ground, tapes fizzling as they melted in their cases.

The walkman had been her birthday present two years ago, and she'd been collecting tapes ever since. Danny and Mallory would sit with their cassette recorders, waiting for a good track to come on the radio.

She balked at the thought of replacing them. She wasn't even sure if she could. The cassettes' value weren't in the songs written on them, but in the memories she associated with them.

The cassette with the _Black Sabbath_ songs had sparkly purple stickers covering it instead of a label. Mallory won the stickers in one of those claw-games. Whenever she looked at it, she remembered the dim lights in the arcade, she and Danny elbowing their way through the carpeted maze of blinking machines and sweaty teenagers, hollering at one another over the tinny music.

She wondered how long it would take her to forget those moments, without the little physical reminders to jolt her memory.

The comic books were likewise irreplaceable. Half of the pages were doodled over, and there were pencil marks on some of the full-page spreads from the week Mallory and Danny decided they wanted to be comic book artists when they grew up. They attempted to learn to draw by tracing over pages from Watchmen.

The things that were replaceable likely were all expensive, and she dreaded having to mail her parents to inform them that her brand-new schoolbooks and robes were destroyed. Mum and dad hadn't let her see the prices when they'd bought them, but Mallory knew her parents.

When they didn't let her see the price on something, that meant it was very expensive.

Amid the tangle of textbooks and robes was her smoking trunk. It had been kicked on it's side, and the fire had eaten through the decorative fabric covering the slats of plywood that made up the lid. She righted her trunk with her foot, wincing when the movement irritated the burn on her leg. The back panel was cracked, but otherwise it looked like it would still manage to hold her things.

Mallory coughed and covered her mouth and nose with the sleeve of her robe. The chemical smell of burnt fabric itched the back of her throat.

She started dumping her clothes and robes back into the trunk, along with the ruins of her books and tapes. She had to do it one-handed, since moving her one arm sent throbbing pain across her shoulder and chest.

The cauldron was too hot to touch and she burnt her hand attempting to pick it up. She cursed and used the sleeve of her robe to lift it, eyes watering as the fabric rubbed against the burn. She held her breath to avoid breathing in the air.

In the back of her mind, the clock was ticking down, urging her to move. Mallory needed to be out of this hallway and fast before someone tried entering or leaving the common room and saw her. Beat up like she was, she looked like a target. Weak.

Nothing was folded so all her things took up more room than they did before. That meant she wouldn't be able to close the lid of her trunk. Not that she could even if everything fit. The metal of the hinges must've warped from the heat, and attempting to close the lid resulted in an awful creaking noise that set her teeth on edge.

Fine. It was fine. The trunk didn't need to be closed to get herself and her things out of this stupid hallway. Mallory gripped the handle of the trunk, past the instinctive flinch as burnt skin met plastic handle— and tugged. The handle snapped.

A shriek fought its past the gorge in her throat. Frustration. She ran her hand through her hair, wiping the tangled strands away from her sweaty face. The hand came away bloody. Fuck it. Mallory's face drew into hard lines. Rowle was going to hurt for this.

She pushed the trunk down the hallway, since she couldn't pull it by the handle. One of the plastic wheels must have melted or something, and the trunk kept swerving to the right. Twice she almost gripped the trunk with her right hand to steady it, only to remember her shoulder when she went to move her arm. It send black spots dancing across her vision and she had to stop to gasp for air.

Her left hand just burned. It was blistering red, the pain impossible to completely ignore, but not quite so bad as moving her right arm.

Likewise, every step had the fabric of her trousers brushing against the burn on her left leg. Her back and shoulder were hurting her, as well. She was embarrassed to admit to herself that she was leaning on the trunk to keep herself upright. The adrenaline was wearing off and her injuries were sharpening into focus.

She'd almost forgotten that her ankle was twisted, buried under the sharpness of all the other pain. Now it was all coming back with a vengeance.

Focus on something else.

She imagined Rowle and Harper lurking around the corner, having realized no professors heard Mallory's scream. Would they have gone and gathered an audience to witness Mallory's humiliation?

Could they predict where she was planning on going? She didn't know, and the anxiety clawed at her stomach. She passed multiple hallways as she retraced her way up to the Great Hall. At each one her pulse pounded in her throat. She was waiting for Rowle to pop out of the shadows, but she never did.

It was odd that the girl hadn't shown up.

Thinking about Rowle was preferable to thinking about the crack in her skull. Or how she wasn't sure this was even the way to Snape's classroom.

The hallway outside the potions classroom was empty but for a gloom dim candles couldn't quite penetrate. She considered waiting for the class to be over. But it was just after lunch and she suspected their class had just started.

Mallory didn't think she could wait that long. Her vision was going blurry around the edges, turning the candlelight into indistinct blobs. They drifted in and out of focus.

Between her head and shoulder, she was lucky to be standing.

She knocked on the door.

A moment later after some muttering and the scrape of chairs against stone, the door opened. A confused-looking older Gryffindor wrinkled his nose when he saw her.

"What do you want?"

"I need t'see Profess'r Snape."

"Hold on a sec—" the boy turned around, "Professor? There's a firstie here for you, a Slytherin."

A moment later and Professor Snape was sweeping out of his classroom, glaring down at her in the damp of the dungeons.

Snape was the obvious solution to her problem. Back in South Brent, there were three main strategies for dealing with bullies: she could ignore them, intimidate them into leaving her be through force, or intimidate them by allying with someone they feared.

She doubted they'd get bored with her. By her reckoning, they didn't hate Mallory, but what she represented to them. Their insults weren't about anything she'd done. In their eyes, she represented muggleborn-ness. And they were disgusted by muggleborns, feared them even. That kind of hate wasn't going to disappear overnight.

But fear? That was a tool she could use. Remembering how it felt to have her classmates in South Brent fear her left Mallory feeling sick and uncomfortable. But the thought of Rowle fearing her sent a burst of sharp pleasure through her.

There was one major problem, though, with intimidating them into leaving her be. Accidental magic was unpredictable. She was out of her mind when Harper dangled her upside down, but her magic did nothing to protect her.

This wasn't the first time it failed her, and in the past she'd been grateful for that. If every time she got angry her accidental magic caused someone's hair to fall out, a muggle adult would've noticed and done something. Now it was inconvenient.

She'd practiced wandless magic for a couple years, with Danny watching on in awe. But that had its own drawbacks. She had to be in the right headspace for it to work, all calm and quiet so she could focus. It was hard enough to focus without any distractions, but to do it in a fight? That leapt straight into wishful thinking.

Proper witch's magic, using a wand, wasn't an option either. Her classmates all learned magic before they arrived at Hogwarts, so it'd be like getting into a fistfight against a group of teenagers. She'd lose, every time. Mallory didn't think she was any smarter than the average first year, and she didn't learn any quicker than her classmates, so trying to catch up to them now was out of the question.

And she needed to do something fast, because her classmates had escalated this from name calling to beating her up and burning her things in under 24 hours.

That left only one strategy open to her, intimidating them by allying with someone they were scared of— and they were afraid of Snape. She had been hesitant to use this strategy this morning, thinking things would only get worse if she were to snitch on them. But now they'd burnt her trunk and beat her up worse than she'd ever felt in her life. That changed the game. The normal rules against snitching on classmates weren't in play.

Snape crossed his arms, peering down at her over his large, hooked nose. "Getting into fights, I see, Miss Hopkins."

"I defended myss'lf." She was already on her back foot, and they'd barely started talking.

Behind Snape, the sound of laughter reached them through the wooden door of the classroom.

Snape grimaced like he was in pain. "Stay here. Don't move."

He whirled around and entered his classroom, slamming the door in Mallory's face. She heard him telling the students— voice muffled through the wood— not to blow themselves up while he was gone. The door opened again, and the professor shut it behind him.

"My office. Now."

Two hallways down, a sharp turn to the right, and they were in Professor Snape's office. She couldn't help the grunts of pain that slipped out as she hurried to keep up with the professor's long strides. Walking after she'd stopped moving made the pain flare up again, worse this time around.

She was panting by the time they reached his office, shirt soaked through with sweat, skin cold and clammy to the touch. Spots danced in front of her eyes, and every breath sent a jolt of pain through her chest.

She coughed, grimacing at the coppery taste coating her tongue. She wiped her mouth and nose with the back of her hand, dread pooling her stomach when it came away red.

Was it coming from her nose or her lungs? How could she tell? Mallory clamped down on her panic. Magic can fix it. She'd ask Snape. Last night they'd made the boils go away, so they could make this go away, too.

Snape shut the door behind her with a click. Mallory's eyes were glued to the trunk in front of her, leaning most of her weight on it. It rolled forward a little and she almost stumbled when the trunk went out from underneath her.

The professor's shoes squeaked on the hardwood floor. She heard the creak of leather as he lowered himself into the chair behind his desk.

Mallory looked up as the professor opened his mouth, no doubt to continue scolding her for defending herself. She started speaking in a rush before he could start.

"I want t'report a case— ss'veral cases— of bullying. My houss'mates, since I've arrived, they've been'ttacking me, they–."

She could feel her innards shriveling under his cold stare.

"Name calling and juvenile insults are not an excuse to participate in a muggle fist fight. I don't care why you were brawling with fists, or how provoked you were, hitting another student is unacceptable."

A little part of her couldn't believe it. He was an adult. He was supposed to help her.

"I haven't even told you what's happened yet."

"I already know. Miss Rowle and her cohorts visited me not ten minutes ago, reporting how you viciously attacked them in the hallway."

That's where the girl had gone. Damn her.

"That's not–"

"Furthermore, they say you verbally attacked them last night, using vulgar language unsuited for a witch of Slytherin House."

Fury lit her blood on fire, and Mallory stood up straight, body's protests all but forgotten in the face of this moaning sack of shit in front of her.

"They tell you 'bout th'part where they called me a mudblood, used spells 'nd paralyzed me? Or what 'bout this." She kicked her trunk with her right leg, hard enough that a couple books tumbled off the pile and landed with a dull thump on the floor. Her cauldron, which had been wedged between the books and some burnt robes, made its bid for freedom, rolling over the side of the trunk before Mallory could catch it.

The cauldron hit the floor with a clang, rolling to a stop at the professor's desk.

"And just what am I supposed to do with this mess, Miss Hopkins?"

"Arseholes did this 'nd you're letting them get away with it!" She practically spat at Snape.

"Mind your tongue." the Professor was looking at her like she was one of those specimens he had fermenting in jars.

"That's it?" Her voice rose in pitch. "That's all you have to say? Get them in here, give them detention. Do something!" she was shouting at Snape, and he—

"I've no reason to bother them." he interrupted, words clipped and precise. "There's no evidence they've done anything wrong."

"What, you think I did this to m'sself?"

"For all I know, you might have. Salazar knows the the things children do in order to get attention." His lips were curled with disgust.

"You can't believe that, this's bollocks! You're juss taking their sides 'coz they're purebloods."

"Don't be foolish, Miss Hopkins. And mind your tongue before I'm forced to take points off from Slytherin."

"I don't give a rat's arse 'bout points. They wrecked my things and they attacked me! I'll cuss all I like!"

"Detention, Miss Hopkins. Tonight, straight after dinner."

In a magnificent feat of self-control, Mallory managed to restrain herself from kicking Snape in the shins. She clenched her fists, both of them, the sharp pain in her right hand driving out all thoughts of digging her nails into Snape's ugly face.

She felt reckless, like doing something that dragged herself down with him. Didn't care about strategy or rightness. He was an adult, an authority figure, and he was breaking all the rules. Adults were supposed to protect her. If they weren't doing that then what were they even for?

"Right, 'coz that's what you're here for, protect them and keep the rest of us in line—"

"Keep speaking and I'll assign you another detention, Miss Hopkins." He ground out her name like she was a particularly vile bundle of ooze.

Well, then.

For the second time that day, she started shoving her belongings back inside her trunk, fighting past the water gathering in her eyes, blurring the the outlines of her burnt textbooks.

Professor Snape flicked his wand, and her trunk jumped to attention, all of her belongings leaping back into it. The lid creaked, attempting to shut. Mallory treated him to a sharp and burning glare.

She grabbed her trunk by the lid and opened the door of his office, planning to slam it behind her once she'd left.

"Miss Hopkins?" The professor said, voice deceptively soft, like the hiss of a snake.

"What?" She growled. He was _ruining_ her dramatic exit.

"You say, 'What, sir.' Watch your manners. Moreover, I did not say you were excused. Sit down."

Spine stiff with her back to Snape, she quickly wiped her eyes, disguising the motion as wiping sweat away from her face. He wasn't going to get the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

She stomped over to the seat across from Snape's desk and threw herself into the chair, glowering. The motion sent a spike of pain through her head, and she bit her lip suppressing a scream of pain. She waited in silence for almost a minute, vision blurring Snape in and out of focus. He said nothing, staring at her with unnerving black eyes. She realized, then, what he wanted.

He was waiting for her to say it.

Mallory's eyes narrowed. This was a power play, the same one he'd tried once before to her today.

"What, sir?"

"I trust you have a quill and parchment in that hopeless mess?" His voice was dry, amused.

"Yeah, so?"

"I expect that the next time I see you in class, you'll be writing on parchment with a quill. Failure to obey this instruction will result in more detentions."

There was silence, for a moment, as she absorbed what the profess— what that greasy bastard, said. Her body felt oddly light in her seat, yet leaden. She met the dour professor's stare, eyes insolent and blank. "I'll remember it for potions, sir." The fuck-you was implied.

He was one of them. She'd said he was defending the purebloods to piss him off, to get him to react. Adults didn't like being called bigots, they wanted to be thought of as open-minded, but he— he was one of them. Another Rowle or Harper.

"You'll remember it for every class. You're not a muggle, Miss Hopkins. Witches and Wizards write with quills on parchment."

She stood, pain briefly flaring but ignored. She wanted to be standing while he sat.

"'m not a muggle, I'm a muggleborn and I'm fucking proud of it, sir."

"Detention tomorrow evening after dinner, for cheek." His almost-smirk of amusement was gone, replaced that lip-curling sneer.

Right. Of course. "Am I excused?" She choked out, hating how her voice broke halfway through her question.

"Yes, now get out of my office and to the Hospital Wing, before you bleed all over the Dungeons."

She tossed him one last hateful glare and banged out of his office, grabbing the lid of her trunk to haul it behind her. The tail end of the trunk smacked into the doorframe, and once it was out of the way she slammed the door as hard as she could. Fuck him.

She was going to Professor McGonagall. This wasn't going to stand, she wouldn't let it. She didn't deserve to be treated like this, not by her classmates and certainly not by a teacher.

Mallory didn't stop to think where she was going, or how she was going to get there. The world felt off kilter, like someone'd drained out all the color. Her head was ringing and her arms felt possessed by constrained emotion.

The hallways passed in a blur, a tightness in her chest that was far from physical grew as she choked back tears. She hated him. Maybe more than even Darla Rowle and Leland Harper. He was an _adult._

Worst part was, he'd probably done this to others. Other muggleborn kids, maybe. Because that's what you do when you're bullied like this, you go to the teacher. And she imagined other kids going to Snape, only to get turned away. She wondered what happened to them. Did they give up? Was that why there weren't other muggleborns in Slytherin? Surely not every muggleborn was sorted into the other three houses.

Was she wasting her time going to McGonagall? She almost halted at the thought, swallowing hard past the lump in her throat. No, McGonagall was strict, but she was a proper grown up. She escorted Mallory and her parents through Diagon Alley when they went to get supplies, and seemed to like her family.

Right before she reached the Great Hall, she stumbled into the two people who she just knew were about to make today even worse. Her heart sank.

"Hey look, Gred, it's the firstie!" said the twin to the right. It was the red-headed twins from the train. They were both standing in front of the entrance to the dungeons, stupid grins smeared across their faces. This was probably funny for them.

"Yeah, whatsername, Candace? Rita?" The twin to the left rubbed his nose.

"I don't remember. Carrie?" The twin to the right— Gred? shrugged.

"S'Mallory, you nitwits. Piss off." She stood up as straight as she could bare it, chest puffed out and face scrunched into the angriest expression she could manage. Go away go away _go away_—

"Hey now, what's got your knickers in a twist? Some muggleborn upset your perfect pureblood world?"

"Looks constipated, if you ask me. Bet the little snakey needs to find a loo."

She almost choked. "I'm not conss'ipated, m'angry. Maybe you lot need glasses. And I'm a muggleborn."

"What? I didn't know they let muggleborns in Slytherin."

"Neither did the ress-of- of Slytherin." She gave them a nasty look, silently begging them to move.

The twins looked from her to her burnt trunk. "You're not leaving Hogwarts, are you?"

"No." She wanted to, though. More than anything, more than magic, even.

"What are you doing out here with your trunk, then? It looks a bit… singed."

"Taking it to Prof'ssor McGonagall. Snape doesn't believe me."

"What about?"

"Th'Slytherins wrecked my things. They're bastards, 'nd I punched Rowle in the face, but she deserved it."

The redheads raised their eyebrows and looked at each other in unison.

"I think," said the twin to the right, "that we're going to get along _brilliantly_. But how about we take you to the hospital wing instead?"

"Yeah, you're a bit bloodied up there." The twin to the left frowned. "You know you have a great big lump on your head, don't you?"

Mallory rolled her eyes. "Yeah," she crinkled her nose. "they—" and made a vague gesture towards her head.

The boys grimaced, sympathetic. "We'll walk you to the hospital wing, alright?"

"No, I have't talk t' Pr'fessor." If she was all healed up when she went to speak with the Professor, then it wouldn't have the same impact. She needed to tough it out until she got to the woman's office.

"You need to go to the hospital wing. You— "

"I _have_ t'talk to her. S'important!"

"Yeah, I reckon it is but— "

This time the other twin interrupted him, "Let's just take her to McGoogly. I'll bet she sends her straight to the hospital wing, anyway."

George frowned. "Did you see her head? Because _that_ looks pretty bad."

"Alright. Then I'll get the Professor and you take her to the Hospital Wing." The twin turned to Mallory. "Does that work, little snakeling?"

Mallory almost stumbled over her own two feet. "She has t'see what they did."

"Sure, Gred'll get her and then you'll have Professor Pussycat on the prowl."

"Righting wrongs and punishing evildoers."

Mallory blinked. That might work. "Okay."

Forge turned around and headed up the Great Staircase, presumably to fetch the Professor.

Gred waved for her to follow him, and so she followed, limping. The burn on her leg felt worse from all the walking. Her shoulder was throbbing, and the palm of her hand looked woefully alarming. The skin was blistered and stung in a way that was hard to ignore. Not to mention the way her head was all— _Right._ Not thinking about it.

George grimaced when he saw her attempting to push the trunk. She'd automatically grabbed it with her left hand, only to hiss in pain when she realized her mistake. She went to switch hands but the twin stopped her.

"Hold it." He flicked his wand, levitating the trunk. She gave a sigh of relief. That burn had been killing her.

"So you're a muggleborn in Slytherin?" He asked. "You might be the first." She was thankful he didn't comment on her inability to continue pushing the trunk. Her pride couldn't take another blow today.

"Yep. Think there've been others, though. Said if I didn't quit school, they'd kill me. I'll bet there were muggleborns in Slytherin before, 'nd the pathetic bastards offed 'em."

"Right. What was your last name again?"

"Hopkins. Mallory Hopkins. 'm not lying. Why'd I lie about being muggleborn? 's not like I want to be picked on."

"I'm George Weasley, but you can call us Gred or Forge. It's easier that way."

She could see why. They were identical, down to every last freckle.

"Nice to meet you, then." She eyed the twin cautiously for a moment.

"And don't worry. I believe you. Have to have a name to use when we brag to all our friends about the first year that beat up a death eater's kid." He winked.

"What's a death eater?"

"From the Wizarding War, with You Know Who. They were his followers."

"I don't know who."

George looked back at her and frowned. "No one'll speak the bloke's name so they call him that— _You Know Who._ They're too scared. Stupid, really. Name rhymes with Moudly Shorts."

She snorted. "You're joking."

"No, look it up."

She nodded and her head swam. She wiped her running nose, and in the dim light her blood looked black on her hand. Not from her lungs, then. Just a bloody nose. And ringing ears. And a cracked—

"Are you alright?" George asked.

"'m fine."

"You sure?"

"Yep. Fine. All good."

She took a step forward and wobbled, but remained upright. Her balance felt a little off and she stumbled— George grabbed her by her shoulders, steadying her.

She couldn't—

* * *

Someone was saying something. _Hospital wing?_ She blinked hard, clearing her head. The spots in her vision swarmed and—

There was something tickling her nose. It smelled a bit like sweat and Danny's gym bag. Mallory opened her eyes— _when had she closed them?_ — and saw red. Specifically, ginger.

She burned with mortification.

George was carrying her in a fireman's hold.

She must've fainted. She didn't faint, not like some girly girl princess in a fairy tale. She was supposed to be a superhero like in comic books, not a—

"Here we are!" They'd stopped in front of a large wooden door. George nudged it open with his foot, balancing impressively for someone carrying a first year on their back.

Inside, she saw rows of white beds lined up neatly in a row and—

"—hit her head pretty bad. Said a bunch of Slytherins did it. Dunno what else, didn't ask."

After that, the world fuzzed out.


	5. The Slytherin Initiation Part 4

**Note:**

Instead of taking her to Professor McGonagall's office, the Twins take Mallory to the Hospital Wing. I figure if they survived experimenting with potions, then they have to have more sense than the average 14 year old. The other twin slinked away to get McGonagall.

* * *

The hospital wing smelled like Snape's potions classroom, though it lacked the ambiance. Large windows let in golden light, warming the crisp white sheets of the hospital beds.

Mallory was lying on one such bed, pale and clammy. Madame Pomfrey started fussing over her the moment she'd come into the Hospital Wing. She was now over at the supply closet, getting medicine.

George was still here, slouched against one of the beds. He was waiting for his twin.

Madame Pomfrey rushed back to Mallory's bed with an armful of little vials. A moment later, the nurse shoved a vile-smelling potion under her nose. Mallory grimaced. "I need t'wait for Pr'fessor McGonagall."

"You'll do no such thing. Your brain is swelling."

"She won't believe me if she doesn't see."

The nurse ignored her. "Open up." Mallory shook her head.

"You need to drink this, now." Mallory kept her lips glued shut. The professor had to see the cuts and scrapes, otherwise she wouldn't believe her.

"Young lady if you don't drink this potion right now, I will spell your mouth open."

Mallory's eyes widened in alarm, and she clenched her jaw shut tighter.

"Miss Hopkins!" said the most welcome voice on the planet. "What on earth has happened to you?" Professor McGonagall came bursting into the hospital wing, a ginger menace trailing behind her.

Mallory slumped with relief.

"Will you take your potion _now?_" snapped Madame Pompfrey.

Mallory opened her mouth and downed the potion, and then five more. They were all revolting.

"This is a blood replenishing potion. You've lost quite a bit of blood. Drink up!"

Mallory did, grimacing all the while. "Am I alright, now?"

"You'll need to lie here and rest, preferably overnight. I don't believe what you children get up to— fractured skull on the first day of school!"

"S'not like I meant to fracture it."

"Of course not, dear."

Professor McGonagall stood off to the side, lips pursed. Madame Pomfrey pulled her aside, presumably to inform the Professor of Mallory's condition.

Both twins were lurking about the Hospital Wing. Mallory was almost relieved they were present, just in case the magical healing worked too fast. They could prove that Mallory wasn't lying about her injuries. The question was why were they _wanted_ to hang about the Hospital Wing. Mallory frowned, and the drying blood on her forehead cracked a bit.

"Miss Hopkins?" Professor McGonagall asked as she sat down next to Mallory's hospital bed. "Who did this to you?" Her voice was uncharacteristically soft.

"Darla Rowle, Leland Harper, and Graham Montague burnt my trunk and all my things in it, because I'm a muggleborn." The anger, which had drained away thanks to the combination of exhaustion and the twins' distractions, came rushing back.

"Last night they all dangled me upside down and hexed me— petrified me and made my skin break out on boils. Today they did something— um, it was a spell that flung me into a wall, I don't remember what it was called. Hit my head and—"

She took a breath, "And they said that if I didn't leave school or switch houses, they'd have me expelled."

Mallory left out the part about Snape. Adults tended to trust other adults. And she didn't know if Professor McGonagall was the sort of adult who, upon hearing that another adult said something, would immediately side with him.

"I see." Professor McGonagall looked grave. "Did you report this to your Head of House?"

"Snape, you mean?"

"Yes, Professor Snape."

Damn it. That meant she had to tell her.

"He didn't do anything about it. Instead he gave me a detention and told me to stop acting like a muggle. And when I told him I was a muggleborn an' proud of it, he gave me another detention." She swallowed thickly around the lump in her throat.

It wasn't straightforward deceit, telling Professor McGonagall that. but if the professor confronted Snape about the detentions, Snape would tell Professor McGonagall that he gave it to her for disrespect. Then Professor McGonagall might begin to doubt everything else Mallory said.

She'd have to say something about the cursing, then. Mallory grimaced.

"He said I wasn't being respectful because I cursed, but I wasn't cursing at him. I was just upset. All my books are new, and now my parents will have to buy new ones, and new robes, and Snape doesn't even care."

"I think you ought to be more concerned about the damage they inflicted upon your person, Miss Hopkins." The professor tapped her wand against her hand, pensive. "Do you know what spells they used to hurt you?"

"No, Professor."

"Do you know the names of everyone involved?"

"Harper, Rowle, Montague. There were others, but I don't know their names."

"I see." McGonagall's face was stern, giving Mallory no clues about what she was thinking.

Mallory bit her lip. "What're you going to do about Rowle and the others?"

The professor's face looked pinched. "I'll investigate the matter."

Mallory couldn't tell if she was brushing her off or would seriously look into it. She'd no doubt talk to Snape, if she did. This wasn't going how she'd planned it.

"Snape thinks—" she almost said that Snape thought she did it to herself, but changed her mind at the last moment, "that Harper and Rowle wouldn't do something like that."

For a professor to say that he didn't have proof of abuse was awful. But it sounded like the sort of thing a teacher might say, if he couldn't be bothered to help.

Telling a kid they fractured their skull and lit their own trunk on fire to get another kid in trouble was absurd.

It went back to how adults tended to trust other adults before they trusted children. Professor McGonagall would likely think Mallory was exaggerating. And if Mallory was exaggerating about Snape, then maybe she was lying about the bullies, too.

Or she'd assume Snape had access to evidence suggesting that Mallory lit the trunk on fire, herself. People just didn't believe eleven-year-olds were that diabolical unless there was something _wrong_ with them.

The professor's lips pursed. "I'll have a word with him."

"I have two detentions from Snape, and Rowle got none. It's not right." They humiliated her, bullied her. They ought to be in trouble, ought to sit in detention for a month, or be expelled.

"Two detentions?"

"The first was for cursing, and the second was for being proud of being a muggleborn."

"I see," said Professor McGonagall, expression tight in a way Mallory had trouble reading.

Mallory could've smacked herself.

Now that she thought about it, telling Professor McGonagall about Snape's bigotry was a bad idea. It was true that Snape told her to stop acting like a muggle. And he did give her detention for being a muggleborn, _but adults trusted other adults._

She hadn't been thinking when she first opened her mouth to Professor McGonagall. She was stupid, too distracted by her anger.

Professor McGonagall was starting out with different information on Snape than Mallory. She'd be seeing Mallory's claim that he picked on muggleborns through the lens of her previous interactions with him. Snape likely wouldn't spout anti-muggle vitriol in front of the stern Professor McGonagall. Not unless he wanted a slap across the face for his trouble.

Professor McGonagall could be entirely unaware that Snape was a bigoted shithead. That meant she might be doubting the things Mallory said more than she would, otherwise.

The professor cleared her throat, and Mallory snapped to attention.

"Might I suggest you avoid cursing in the presence of Professors? In the meantime, I'll be having a word with him about his students' behavior. If they attempt to hurt you again, come to me first, and I'll present it to Professor Snape. Are we clear?"

"Yes, professor." But if her gamble with Professor McGonagall didn't go her way, then she'd be back where she started.

She hesitated, and then asked. "Can't I switch houses? I'd be fine in Gryffindor. I've already made friends with Colin and Fred and George, and I'm plenty brave."

Professor McGonagall sighed. "I'm sorry Miss Hopkins, but it can't be done."

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. "The Slytherin prefects told Rowle that too, but I thought I'd ask just in case."

The professor paused. "Did Miss Rowle threaten you in front of the prefects?"

"Yeah, and Harper and them hexed me in front of them too. They didn't tell them to stop until they saw Snape coming."

"I see. Was anyone else there?"

"The whole House, basically. They blinded me, so I couldn't see who was casting. I know Harper did, and this pointy-chinned blonde boy hexed me so I couldn't scream—"

"You told Professor Snape this?" Her tone was dangerously low, lips pursed in a thin line. Finally, Professor McGonagall was looking properly upset like she ought to look.

"Yeah, and he said I had no proof."

"Did you tell him the prefects saw it?"

Mallory frowned. "I think so. I said they did it in the common room, and that a lot of people were involved." Actually, she didn't quite remember what she said to Snape. She remembered being furious and yelling at him after class. And she might've said something about a bunch of people doing it, but she couldn't quite be sure.

"How many—" the professor cleared her throat, "Do you have any idea how many of them were casting spells at you?"

"Harper at first." She grimaced. "He had me dangling upside down in the middle of the common room. I don't remember much after that. I had boils on my skin. And they kept hitting me with— I think it was stinging hexes— and someone paralyzed me so I couldn't move and blinded me. I think that's when the prefect stepped in, I don't know. Everyone was laughing, or at least, a lot of people were." Her voice was small.

"I wish someone would've done something." Mallory mumbled. Was she laying it on too thick? She didn't want to give Professor McGonagall a reason to doubt her, another reason to doubt her.

The professor looked away, face clouded with anger. "This shouldn't have happened, and I'm sorry this was you first experience at Hogwarts."

Mallory, who's skull was tingling as the potions knitted her fractured skull back together, considered that it could've been a lot worse.

"I just don't want to send my mum a letter saying she has to re-buy all my things." Mallory didn't think the school would refund them the items she lost. Adults loved their money. But it could act as leverage. If she made it sound like her mum would sue the school or demand reimbursement, then maybe the school would take the far less costly route of putting Rowle and Harper in detention for the rest of the year.

"Well, let me take a look."

Her trunk was parked next to her hospital bed, singed and crumbling from the stress.

The professor stood up and waved her wand once. The trunk as well as the objects inside it snapped back together, un-charred and whole.

"How did you do that?" Mallory's eyes were wide with shock and wonder. Alright, so mum couldn't ask the school to pay them money, but this was _so much better._

McGonagall's lips twitched upwards. "The spell is called _Reparo._ I suspect you'll be needing it again, so you might want to read chapter four of your _Standard Book of Spells_."

"Thank you!" She hopped out of bed and tore through her trunk to find Mr. Nibbles the panda, whole again. Hugging him tight, she bounced with glee.

"Now I need to speak to Professor Snape, and you need to be in bed, young lady."

Mallory nodded, and hopped back up onto the hospital bed, Mr. Nibbles in tow.

With that, the Professor turned around and addressed the Weasley twins, whom she had completely forgotten about while trying to convince Professor McGonagall that she was pitiable.

The two red-haired boys were leaning against a hospital bed, fiddling with a piece of paper. Upon seeing Professor McGonagall, they shoved the paper into their robes and straightened.

"Mr. and Mr. Weasley." said the professor, eyebrows rising to her hairline. "why are you still here?"

The twin to the right spoke. "Well, we found this little snakeling by the Great Staircase looking lost."

"I'm aware," said the Professor, voice dry.

"And we escorted her here, all proper and responsible-like."

"And she was one step away from an unfortunate and imminent demise, so we thought we ought to wait and see if she needed help getting back to her common room from the hospital wing."

Professor McGonagall looked between Mallory and the twins, lips twitching as though she wanted to laugh.

"Indeed, I see you have made friends among the Gryffindors, Miss Hopkins." said the Professor.

Huh. So she gained points in the professor's book for being friendly with the twins? She wouldn't have guessed that.

"They're alright, for gingers." Mallory said, half grinning.

"Oi, you little brat!" said one of the twins.

"Way to treat us, after we helped you."

Mallory stuck out her tongue at them, and they made grotesque faces in return.

"Well, I don't suspect Miss Hopkins will be leaving the Hospital Wing until tomorrow. Though, you may keep her company so long as you behave. Is that understood?"

But then, Mallory might be reading this whole situation wrong. Danny was always the one who got people, understood what they were thinking and why. Some of it rubbed off on her, but she was a bit thick when it came to that. The professor might not approve of her friendship with the ginger terrors. Or maybe she thought the twins were funny independently of what she thought of Mallory.

"'Course, Professor."

"When have we been known to be anything but completely well behaved?"

* * *

The twins were not well behaved. This wasn't a surprise to anyone who spoke to them for more than five minutes. As such, the moment Madame Pomfrey turned her back, they were breaking her out of the Hospital Wing.

Mallory was torn, honestly torn, on whether or not to stay in the Hospital Wing. There was the matter of being sure that her recently-fractured skull was healed. Or she could sneak out to have a spot of adventure.

The adventure won every time.

"If you really punched a death eater's kid," said Gred, "we might just adopt you."

They were heading down the third hallway to the right of the Hospital Wing. A twin was levitating her trunk, because her shoulder and hand weren't finished healing.

"Yeah, you're way cooler than our little sister. She mopes around, going on about boys, like a proper ghoul."

_Oh._ Something warm bubbled up in her chest, loosening the tightness that'd been strangling her since she left That Slimy Bastard's office.

"All we'd have to do is dye your hair red." Gred rubbed his chin, contemplatively.

She giggled. "I'd look stupid."

"That you would, which would only make it funnier, wouldn't it, brother-mine?"

"Indeed it would." said the second twin.

They were climbing steps now, and Mallory was never so glad for magic, because her ankle didn't hurt at _all._

"Is this a shortcut to the Slytherin Dungeon?" she asked. The twins were fun and distracting, but she didn't want to go there just yet. She had to find a place to hide her trunk, and learn the spell _reparo._

"As a matter of fact, it's not." said a twin.

Mallory frowned. "Then where are we going?"

"We might've overheard your conversation with ol'Mcgoogly."

Her face burned. She couldn't blame them, not when they'd been right in the room with her and couldn't help but overhear. She tried remembering exactly what she'd said, and what they might think of her now.

She'd sounded awful pathetic, hadn't she? On purpose to garner sympathy from the professor.

They glanced around the hallways, as though looking for errant listeners.

"I don't think McGoogly can do much." began Forge, hesitant. "We've seen stuff like this before. Snape's your Head of House, so the final word goes to him."

"Why would McGonagall lie?"

"Because you're an ickle firstie, and you had your head split open. She wanted to make you feel better."

"Sure, I'll feel better for no good reason. That'll help."

"Don't get snappy on us, now." said a twin. "We have a proposition for you."

"What sort?"

"We happen to have products we want to test, pranks and that sort of thing."

"And we might have a deep and abiding dislike for several Slytherins."

"And it appears we have that in common, though not for the same Slytherins."

"If you agree to test our products on _our_ Slytherins, we'd be happy to give some to test on _yours._"

"It's not the same as getting them into detention, but—"

"— they'll certainly regret setting your trunk on fire."

To Mallory this sounded an awful lot like a trap. Not the sort of trap someone would set up in order to hurt her. But the sort of trap where there was a high chance of something going wrong. The twins didn't have any reason to care if she were caught. They would see it as a win-win: if Mallory succeeded, they'd get what they wanteD. But if Mallory was caught, then Slytherin as a whole would suffer when she lost the house points.

There was also another scenario to consider— getting caught by the older Slytherins meant she'd be creating new enemies. She already had enough of those.

But if Professor McGonagall couldn't help her, she'd need a backup plan.

"Maybe, but that sounds risky. I mean, I might get caught and then I'd be in even more trouble, with more people. So I'd need help with something else, too." She could go to Colin for help, but Colin hadn't been at the school any longer than her.

"What sort of help?"

"My trunk, yeah? What's to stop Rowle and them from burning it all over again, or stealing my things. I need a place to hide it where they can't find it."

The twins looked at each other. "I think we can come to an accord, Miss Hopkins."

"We know a place to hide your trunk."

"Though you have to swear not to tell anyone about it."

Mallory's nodded. "Okay."

"If you ever tell anyone, we'll get you with our _experiments_."

"Three times worse than whatever the worst thing is you can imagine."

Mallory doubted _that_, but she got the gist of it. "Right. Well, I won't be telling a soul, then."

They continued down the hall in silence for a minute, before the twins stopped in front of a tapestry. They muttered a word, and beckoned her to follow them. She bit her lip, suddenly regretting going with them for a moment. This was obviously some sort of prank. Then she remembered the neverending hallway and moving staircases from this morning and poked her head behind the tapestry.

"Wicked."

Upon whispering the password, the blank stone wall behind the tapestry shimmered, morphing into a narrow wooden door.

"It is. This should take us pretty close to the lair."

The door opened, revealing a passageway that somehow managed to loom, pitch black and silent.

The twin that wasn't levitating her trunk lit his wand up like a torch, and disappeared into the passage. Gred followed, and Mallory sucked in a great gulp of air and went after them.

Inside, her nostrils itched at the musty smell, fingers twitching as she passed fluttering cobwebs dangling from the ceiling. It was a narrow passageway, so narrow that they had to walk single file.

It was only slightly claustrophobic.

The passageway halted in a dead end. Mallory tried peering around Forge— had they gotten lost? Gred knelt down, tapping the floor with his wand. He got to his feet and backed up. Mallory realized why when a whole portion of the floor vanished.

"Going down!" The twin jumped, her trunk following him.

Forge went next, and Mallory didn't hesitate. She wasn't about to look like a wuss in front of them.

She leaped, falling a couple meters before Forge or Gred caught her with a muffled _oof._

The twin looked down at her, face twisted with concern. "We could've levitated you down, you know."

"I'm fine now." She said. "I'm tougher than I look." And she was. Her head barely hurt at all. The only thing that stung a little was the burn on her hand and leg, though the burn-paste was healing it as they spoke.

"Tricksome and slippery, these snakes are." said Gred. "We shouldn't underestimate her, even if she's only a wee little thing."

He let her down and she popped to her feet, dusting off her robes.

"Quite right you are, my twin. Why, I remember when we were wee little ones."

"Surely not!"

"Indeed I do! We braved the dank dungeons of Slytherin, the loathsome Lair of the Filch, even hung all our dormmates' underwear off the Grand Staircase one fateful evening."

She laughed, eyes flitting from twin to twin as they waved their arms about.

"Why, I think I do remember that! The scales have fallen off my eyes and now I see!" he halted in place, slapping his hands over his face and wobbled backwards on his feet.

Gred gripped his twin's arm, avoiding the flailing, gangly arms.

"You do?" Gred shook him. "What do you see? What do you see brother-mine?"

"The light! It's blinding me!" Forge sagged in his brother's arms. Gred dropped him, and the other stumbled before righting himself.

Mallory could barely move for awe. She thought to herself then, that she might have just found her idols.

"No, that's not the light, it's your hair." said Mallory. "It's ginger, did you know?"

"Oi, you!"

* * *

It wasn't a room, an abandoned classroom, or a hidden nook in a broom closet. It was a far, far better hiding spot than that.

Behind a mirror on the fourth floor there was a collapsed secret tunnel winding under the grounds and into Hogsmeade, a nearby village. Useless for travelling, the tunnel was turned into a rather narrow, cramped, but elaborate secret lair for the ginger pranksters.

It had a low ceiling and narrow width, but the twins managed to squeeze in a series of benches lined up in a row which one could slide past sideways.

On the benches were scattered papers, textbooks, and bubbling cauldrons, lit by low flickering candlelight. There was even an apparatus that looked straight out of a muggle scientists' lab, copper and shiny with knobs and a glass beaker.

At one point they must've needed proper storage space, and added shelves. She could tell they'd done it themselves— the wood was newer and less worn than the beams that held up the ceiling. The shelves stored bottles of potions ingredients.

The ground under her feet was packed dirt, worn down in the middle from all the footsteps over the years. As a result, the workbenches weren't level, so the twins had propped them up with old tattered books.

In other words, the place was awesome.

"This is the best secret lair I've ever seen." she grinned at them. They looked utterly pleased with themselves.

"Well, you won't be telling anyone about it, understand?"

"Yeah, I said I wouldn't."

"Just making sure, midget."

"'m not a midget. I'm tall for a first year!"

"For a firstie, exactly."

"I might be taller than you when I'm older!"

The twin closest to her ruffled her hair and she glowered at them. Right. She couldn't kick them in the shins because they were helping her, no matter how tempting. She took a deep breath, sucking in the earthy smell of their damp lair, and releasing it.

No kicking the twins. Got it.

"Anyway, what's that?" She gestured towards the copper contraption on the table just past the hole in the wall. There were roots and dirt growing through the brick there. She hoped it wasn't the roots to that whacking tree.

Green fluid was dripping from the contraption into the beaker, smelling faintly of licorice. They smacked her uninjured shoulder when she leaned over to sniff.

"Nevermind what it is, don't touch it. Or sniff it."

Mallory slumped with disappointment. "Alright. So where do I put my trunk?"

It wasn't a neat solution. Quite frankly, it wasn't much of a solution at all.

Mallory imagined herself in the role of Rowle. The girl wanted to humiliate Mallory. She spent time watching her, enough to notice when she came into the Great Hall to eat breakfast.

That girl would find it odd how Mallory still had clothes to wear and books in class, given her trunk was gone. Curiosity peaked and dissatisfied with the amount of damage inflicted on Mallory, she'd follow her, all the way to the twins' secret lair and discover Mallory's deception.

She then imagined Rowle's reaction, upon finding out that Mallory had hidden it from her for days. She'd destroy the trunk properly, this time. One can't reparo ashes.

Usually when someone fought back against a bully and won the bully would back down. Rowle seemed like the rare sort to escalate the situation, which she'd done since Mallory met her. From name-calling to curses and destruction of property.

"This can't be permanent." she told the twins. She didn't intend on telling them _why_ it couldn't be permanent. No need to scare them into retracting their offer if they didn't realize she was putting their lair in danger.

"Uh, we definitely weren't intending it to be."

"We figured we'd put some wards on the trunk for you."

"Give us a couple days."

"Oh," her eyes widened. "shit, thank you!"

They laughed. "No problem, really."

"We live with a bunch of nosy brothers."

"You wouldn't believe our brother Percy."

"Always trying to get us in trouble with our mum, going through our stuff for contraband."

"Gross." She crinkled her nose.

"Exactly."

"Do I need to take my stuff out of the trunk, if you 'll be working on it?"

"Yeah, well, unless you don't care if we go through it to get it out of there."

"We won't go through the pile of stuff, promise."

Yeah, right.

"I'll take it out. Thanks again."

When the twins looked away, she took another whiff of the green fluid. It did smell like licorice. Weird.

While unpacking her things into a cramped corner, Mallory flipped through her spellbooks. The Professor said it was in one of her books, though she couldn't remember which one.

"Do either of you know how to cast reparo?" she asked, absently.

"Sure. Just make _this_ movement with your wand while saying 'Reparo.'" He demonstrated, flicking his wand.

The other twin ducked under the table and grabbed a copy of _The Daily Prophet._ She caught it when he tossed it at her.

"Try it on that. Light the paper on fire and then repair it."

Mallory frowned. "I don't know how to do that, either. I don't know any spells."

The twin pointed his wand at the paper in her hand and said "_Incendio!_"

The paper caught fire and Mallory yelped, dropping it. She stomped on the flames, putting it out. They were in a tiny corridor help up by half-rotted wooden beams _for fuck's sake._

"Alright, now, you repair it."

_Are you kidding me?_ She thought. But the twins were watching her expectantly and so she took the wand out of her back pocket, and pointed it at the still-smouldering copy of _The Daily Prophet._

"Reparo!" she said, and the paper immediately exploded into a cloud of putrid sulfur.

The twins coughed and waved their wands about, clearing the air. One of them, maybe Fred, sat down on a stool next to the table with the cauldrons. George, meanwhile, was hunting down another of his things for her to destroy.

This time, it was a plate they stole from the Great Hall. Though now they wanted her to set it on fire herself, and then repair the resultant damage.

Casting the reparo made her feel a little tired, but not as tired as she felt after levitating pencils. At the very least, she thought she could give it another go.

Mallory pointed her wand at the plate, which still had crumbs on it from some dinner long ago, and cast.

"_Incendio!_"

The plate exploded.

After that, the twins tugged her over to the door, away from their experiments, to try again on a new victim.

She cast it again, and the goblet caught fire, burning for a little before dying out. Mallory kicked it with the heel of her shoe, and the metal bent inwards. Neat.

"I did it!" She pointed, grinning from ear to ear.

"Great! We knew you could. Now repair it."

_"Reparo!"_ she shouted, and the goblet cracked straight down the middle.

After her second attempt at repairing the goblet failed, she felt too tired to keep going. They told her to sit down and try again in a bit.

"You'll get better at it if you keep trying." said one of the twins.

And so she did.

* * *

It was rather close to the time when Mallory was supposed to head down to the Quidditch pitch for flying lessons, and she had yet to decide what to do.

On one hand, she didn't want to go. Rowle would be there, and so would Harper. They'd hex her again.

On the other hand, going to class healthy and grinning would show everyone that she wasn't beaten.

If switching houses wasn't an option, then the proper course of action was to—

At that, Mallory's brain drew a blank.

Danny would know what to do. He was good with people in a way that Mallory couldn't completely emulate. She couldn't imagine what Danny would do in this situation, because he knew things about how people thought that she didn't.

Without that information, she couldn't guess what he'd think.

But Mallory had picked up on some of what Danny rambled on about. Once he'd made fun of this girl in their year for cowering everytime she walked by older students. Danny had laughed and said it was like she was inviting people to kick her.

Mallory had told him it was a mean thing to say, and that no one wanted to be bullied. Danny being Danny used that to launch into a tirade about the roles people play. She didn't remember most it, but the gist of it was how the average bully didn't like prey that fought back. Being all hunched over and afraid said "I'm scared of being hit, because I know I can't win a fight against you."

If Mallory acts like she expects to be hexed, she'll get hexed.

Not showing up to class said "I'm scared of being hurt again, because I can't fight back." Which was true. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't afraid, or that she could defend herself.

Mallory could cast the fire charm and have it work most of the time, if you counted 'exploding violently' as 'working.' She was much less proficient with _reparo_, which hardly ever repaired the target. Being unafraid of bullies was easier when you could defend yourself from said bullies. As it was, she might manage to light Rowle's hair on fire after three tries.

And she didn't think Rowle would stand still and let her.

On the 'run away and hide' side of things, going to flying class challenged Rowle's authority. The bullies believed they had the right to say who can be in Hogwarts. Hiding from Rowle only confirmed Rowle's role as a gatekeeper. Hiding from her would legitimize that belief, in a way. Her classmates would see Rowle telling Mallory to go home, and then Mallory seemingly obeys by not showing up in class. It'd make Rowle seem powerful, which would be bad for Mallory, in the long run.

It seemed that the ruling class in Hogwarts was the purebloods, and they could get away with a lot because people would believe them over the _dirty mudbloods._ Those kids didn't think up of that insult on their own. They heard it from their parents and the adults in charge. Which meant Rowle and the others didn't expect to be punished for picking on Mallory.

Further escalation was possible.

Mallory thought, as the clock ticked down towards the start of class, how calling to mind Danny's thoughts did end up being useful.

She also thought that she wanted to be a superhero, and that putting yourself in danger is a part of that. She'd already hid once today, first thing in the morning. If she started backing down now, she might end up hiding all the time.

There was always an excuse to hide.

And Madame Pomfrey demonstrated her ability to heal a fractured skull in a matter of minutes, so the actual danger was likely far lower than she'd been imagining.

It was then Mallory realized she was talking herself into going, and that she really did want to go, anyway.

And so, Mallory chose to go to her first Flying Class at Hogwarts.

* * *

Mallory Hopkins was floating four meters above the ground on a broomstick, and she couldn't be happier.

After they were taught the basics and no major catastrophes occurred, they were taken to the Quidditch pitch and allowed to fly around. They weren't supposed to fly higher than the stands, or outside of the pitch, but Mallory's entheuseasm wasn't dulled.

She was _flying._ Granted, she wasn't very good at it. The broom flew jerkily and some part of Mallory was convinced the thing would drop out from under her.

But the sky was bright-blue above her, with white puffy clouds low on the horizon, and she couldn't keep her feet on the ground.

The Slytherins and Hufflepuffs had migrated to opposite sides of the field, and there was talk of starting pick-up games of Quidditch.

Mallory was told by the rest of the Slytherins that she was _not_ welcome to play with them.

Mallory's response was colorful, and involved the obscene things one might do with a broomstick, if they were so inclined.

The only reason it didn't devolve into a bloody brawl was due to Madame Hooch's hawk-eyes, which were firmly affixed to the group of Slytherins, and narrowed in disapproval.

Which was, in part, why Mallory was now flying low loops around the Quidditch pitch, close enough to the ground that the fall wouldn't be fatal. Just in case.

Flying, she thought, made up for Rowle's rude comments. She was in the air, and _actually flying._ This was definitely going in Danny's letter.

On her second loop around the pitch, she noted that the pick-up game between the Slytherins had begun. She felt a momentary pang at being left out, before sliding her eyes over to the Hufflepuffs.

The Hufflepuffs were also playing pick-up Quidditch. Though, there were two Hufflepuffs that hadn't been included with the rest, and were floating a ways off by the stands.

With the Slytherins distracted by their game, Mallory felt safe enough to rise a few meters up, and was treated to the stunning image of the sunlight glinting off the Black Lake.

Higher up, the wind whipped her robes around her legs, and her hair blew away from her face once she angled into the wind. Fingers squeezing her broomstick, she turned and raced to the opposite end of the pitch.

It was brilliant, the adrenaline pumping through her veins as the stands turned into a colorful blur. Her eyes stung with the wind and her hands were ice on the broomstick. She was grinning ear-to-ear.

Then she noticed that the two Hufflepuffs who had been lurking by the stands were heading her way.

They were a boy and a girl.

"Hi! Do you want to play a game with us?" said the girl with a toothy smile and bright eyes.

The boy was frowning at both of them, sunlight glinting off his glasses. It made it hard for Mallory to read his expression.

"Sure." Mallory said. "what sort of game?"

"I, for one, don't want to play any kind of game." said the boy with the glasses.

"Don't be a bore, Felix." said the girl, still grinning. "We could play Bridge Monster. Not sure if we have enough for cops and robbers, or anything like that."

Felix wrinkled his nose.

"Bridge Monster?" Mallory said. "I'm a muggleborn. I don't know any wizarding games."

She thought that saying it outright would prevent the girl and Felix from finding out later and howling with disgust that they'd wasted their time with a mudblood. More importantly, it meant she wouldn't have to waste her time with _them_.

"Us too. You didn't have Bridge Monster at your school? Knees and Below? Friday the Thirteenth?" the girl fired off the questions in a row.

Mallory shook her head.

Felix cut in. "It's boring. You get on a jungle gym and the Bridge Monster can't climb on it—"

"Sometimes they can," interrupted the girl, "depends on the rules. They might be able to only step on the metal pieces, or only use the equipment that's painted blue."

"As I was saying, in the _official_ rules, the Bridge Monster can't walk on the—"

"There aren't any official rules," the girl interrupted again.

"There are, too!" said Felix, drawing back as if he were struck at the very idea of there being no official rules to the game.

Mallory, noting that time was passing. Soon Madame Hooch would be calling them down from the sky, thought to put and end to it.

"What're the rules, Felix?"

The girl rolled her eyes, but stopped interrupting.

"The Bridge Monster can only tag you if they touch your knee or below. If they grab your arm, it doesn't count. Then the person touched is the new Bridge Monster."

"So it's tag, but you can only tag their legs." Mallory said, deadpan. Felix was making an unusual fuss over what amounted to a game of tag.

"Exactly!" said Felix, "except, not the _whole_ leg, only knees and below."

"Why's it called Friday the Thirteenth?"

"Because it's scary," said the girl. "obviously."

"I don't see it." Mallory scrunched her nose up.

"Like a troll coming out from under a bridge," the girl said, voice low and dramatic, like she was reading from a story. "It grabs your ankles, and drags you down into its lair! Only to make you into another of its slaves!"

Mallory's lips were quirking up at that, though she and the girl were the only two of them amused. Felix was rolling his eyes in exasperation.

"We don't have a bridge, though." Mallory said.

"No, but we could play tag— knees and below."

Mallory grinned. "That works."

The girl lunged forward with her broom, but Mallory was expecting it, and shot up.

Laughing with delight, she yelled up at Mallory, "I'm Kit Jennings! Who are you?"

"Mallory Hopkins!" she yelled back at her.

With that, the game was on.

Felix shot in the opposite direction towards the Slytherin goalposts, the moment Kit lunged at Mallory. No doubt he guessed that if he stuck around, Kit would go after him.

Kit chased Mallory, who was racing towards the Hufflepuff end of the pitch. She was riding close to the edge where she did her loops before.

At the end of the pitch where she'd go around and start heading back towards the Slytherins, Kit cut across the pitch.

She was catching up, and fast.

It was then that Mallory realized she was treating the pitch like it was a track or football field, and shot up into the air on a diagnal, putting distance between her and Kit.

She glanced back and saw Kit's face scrunched in concentration, and laughed.

A shrill whistle pierced the air, and Mallory glanced down to see Madame Hooch glaring at her. Oh, she'd gone too high up.

But Kit was waiting for her below, chesire-cat grin gleaming in the sun. She waggled her fingers at Mallory. _Hi, I can't wait for you to come down._

Well, then.

Mallory twisted her broom and shot down almost vertically, speeding up way faster than she thought she could go. Kit was forgotten as she struggled to get control over her broom.

She leaned _hard_ backwards, trying to slow down—

—a hand brushed across her back, flicking her hair—

— And Mallory leveled out four meters above the ground, narrowly missing both being turned into the dreaded bridge monster, and smashing into the ground.

Speaking of people who needed to have a run-in with the bridge monster, Felix was _still_ on the other side of the pitch, safely lurking by one of the stands.

That was about to change.

Mallory sped down the middle of the pitch, Kit on her tail. She'd managed to get right in the middle, not to high or to low, not too far to the right or to the left.

Which meant if Felix tried to make a break for it to the other side of the pitch, all routes he took had about an equal chance of getting him caught by Kit. All Mallory had to hope on was that Kit was tired of chasing her, and would go after Felix, instead.

Felix did not take that lying down.

He dove into the Slytherin Quidditch match area, which until now they'd been avoiding.

The seven Slytherins were spread out around the hoops in a loose C, with the bottom of the C being the hoops. A dead-eyed boy with dark hair had the ball, and Montague was chasing him. Another girl with cokebottle glasses and a severe hair cut was speeding to intercept Montague, but was knocked aside by Rowle.

Two Slytherins were guarding the hoops, Harper on one side and a boy she didn't know on the other.

Then Felix dove through the match and the dead-eyed boy swerved hard to avoid him, almost crashing into Montague. Montague took it as a sign from god and snatched the quaffle right out of his hands.

Harper, Rowle, and the girl with the cokebottle glasses howled with outrage and started firing spells off at Felix.

Two fire charms, a menacing blue ball of fire, and an orange colored spell shot towards Felix. But he was too fast. Felix swerved hard to the right, narrowly avoiding the hot ball of fire that streaked past his ear.

A whistle blew, but Rowle and the others weren't stopping.

Kit took off like a javelin toward Montague, while Mallory slowed her broom and took aim. Four enemies were on Felix's tail. That they all missed was _lucky_, and distracting even one of them would buy him time to get out of range.

"_Incendio!_" Mallory shouted, aiming for the back of Rowle's robes.

Rowle jolted forward on her broom, Mallory's fire-charm hitting its mark. She sceamed and spun around, firing off three spells in quick succession.

"_Langlock!_ _Baubillious,_ _Everte Statum!_" Rowle cast, panting with sweat dripping down her forehead.

Mallory leaned out of the way of the Langlock, and straight into the yellow lightning. It smashed into her shoulder and she let out half a scream at the shock. It felt like shoving her hands into an electrical socket. Off balance, she couldn't avoid the third spell.

It ripped her backwards off her broom and into the air. As she tumbled, it occurred to her that it was the same spell fired at her in the hallway when she'd cracked her head open.

She flipped twice before hitting the ground with a crack, as her already weak ankle snappinng.

That wasn't the worst part.

Dead-Eyes' _tarantallegra_ hit Felix's legs, and they started jolting around as though they were possesed, and then he shot off his broom straight into the air like was strapped to a rocket.

"Get down off those brooms right now!" screamed Madame Hooch, catching Felix with a cushioning charm.

Kit had been keeping Montague busy. She hadn't used any spells. Instead she dove at him like a living missile, forcing him to play a game of chicken she didn't think he wanted to win.

Only now Harper and the girl with the cokebottle glasses were firing at Kit.

"_Petrificus Totalis!_" shouted Harper, while Cokebottles was firing incendios off one after the other.

Kit froze in mid-air, stiff as a board on her broom.

Mallory was frozen in horror, watching Kit shoot towards the ground, broom flaming.

A second later, the boy next to Harper managed to hit Dead-Eyes with a mis-aimed spell, locking the boys legs together so he couldn't steer the broom. Dark-Eyes howled in rage and aimed back at Hoop-boy, firing a yellow bolt of what looked like _lightening_. It missed, and the boy by the hoops laughed.

"FIFTY POINTS FROM SLYTHERIN, EACH!" shrieked Madame Hooch.

But it was too late. Kit smacked into the ground with a sickening crunch, and Mallory couldn't think past the pain. Her leg, shoulder, and Kit was somewhere on the pitch but Mallory couldn't _move._

* * *

In the end, every Slytherin first year besides Nerissa Brody exchanged jinxes over the Quidditch pitch that day. The result was a staggering loss of 350 points for Slytherin. Hufflepuff also lost 50 points for Kit's involvement.

And of course, all the Slytherins were blaming Mallory. But she obtained something far more valuable in the midst of their battle.

Kit Jennings and Felix Underwood, from that day on, could be counted among Mallory's friends.

* * *

Mallory was in the hospital wing. This was the second time in one day, and Madame Pomfrey was not happy about it.

"You are _never_ to leave the Hospital Wing before you've been discharged, do you understand me, young lady?"

Her ankle had been set with a snap of the Madame's wand, and potions were working on fixing the broken bone. Sleeping in the bed next to her was Kit, with Felix holding vigil beside her.

Mallory promised not to leave, "the twins aren't even _here_." she said. The nurse narrowed her eyes and told Mallory she wouldn't be going anywhere, twins or no.

Once Madame Pomfrey was gone, Felix marked his place in the book and cleared his throat.

"Thanks for trying to help." His tone was clipped and precise, like it cost him something to say the words.

"Your welcome, but I think they went after you because of me, so I should be the one saying sorry." she said. It was true, she thought. Not only had Mallory acted with audacity in attending class and acting like she _belonged,_ she then had the nerve to make friends and play games after Rowle and her mates rejected Mallory.

They'd been waiting for an excuse, any excuse, to go after Mallory and her friends.

"That's a bit conceited, don't you think?" asked Felix, eyes narrowed behind his glasses.

Mallory looked at him, and it occurred to her that he must be angry for what happened to Kit. And she was inadvertently redirecting that anger towards her.

"It's because we're muggleborns. They say I'm the first muggleborn in Slytherin, but I think they're lying." she said. "I can't be the first."

He nodded, and re-opened his book. Mallory let out a silent little breath of air. She was trying her best to avoid making any more enemies, given how many she already had in her own house.

Kit groaned in her bed and Mallory sat up, "are you alright?"

"I was on fire." Kit said, voice flat.

"Because you tried to fight a bunch of _Slytherins._" said Felix, lips curling when he said _Slytherins._

"Am I an honorary Hufflepuff, then?" asked Mallory, tone deceptively light.

Felix gave her a flat stare, though Kit waved her good arm up into the air, and made a thumbs-up sign.

"I didn't need help." said Felix, "I could've gotten away, and then you convinced the Slytherin to help—"

"The _Slytherin_ was happy to help, because she hates bullying." Mallory said, scowling at the back of Felix's head.

"You definitely did-so need help, Felix Underwood!" said Kit, pushing herself up in bed. Half of her face was covered in purple bruises that were rapidly turning yellow. Her arm was in a sling, and there were burns covering her shoulder.

Magical medicine meant there wouldn't be any scars, nor any lasting damage. It was also the only reason Mallory wasn't screaming and running for the hills.

"That's not important!" said Felix, voice going shrill, "you went and got yourself hurt when you didn't need to."

"I also rammed into that kid with my broom," Kit said, eyes crinkling as she smiled. "And you should've seen his face. He looked like he was going to piss himself."

"This isn't funny. You could've gotten really hurt." said Felix, arms crossed across his chest, book forgotten on his lap.

"I think," said Mallory, hesitant, "wizards and witches might look at danger different than we do, 'coz they can heal almost anything, you know?"

"Exactly, and the look on his face was worth every bruise." Kit said.

Mallory grinned, but was mulling over what Felix said. She couldn't figure him out.

Mallory tried to imagine the sort of mindset he'd be in to say that _Kit had to convince the Slytherin to help,_ when he was being shot out of the sky. He might think Mallory was the sort of person who needed convincing to help people. Or maybe he thought Mallory's help was what made the Slytherins retaliate so violently.

"They're bullies, and they need to see we won't take it lying down." said Mallory. "People like that don't like victims who fight back."

"And I suppose _you_ would know." said Felix. Of course it was Felix. Mallory's fingers twitched and she very deliberately didn't make a fist or punch the speccy git in the nose.

Kit pulled out the pillow from behind her back with her good arm and chucked it at Felix's head, which was almost as good as punching him in the face. It knocked him across the face and the book fell off his lap. He snatched it up from the ground and glared at _Mallory._

What.

She re-thought what she said, and realized that Felix thought that Mallory was a bully. He thought she knew what bullies didn't like because she was one. _Which was a funny way to interpret her comment._

"I know because I was bullied." Mallory said, taking a gamble. "when I was younger I had a lisp and everyone made fun of it." She left out the part where Robbie Turner went home that day without his two front teeth.

Showing her squishy underbelly to Felix _should_ make him soften up to her. She hoped. If not, he might use it to make fun of her. Having people talk about her lisp didn't bother her now, but it'd be kicking her when she was already down.

Felix looked at her for a moment, spine straight and eyes narrowed. It was the sort of look that made her want to elaborate, like he was waiting for her to say more or explain herself. Mallory didn't, and he was the one who looked away first.

She knew that tactic, and Felix's stare wasn't anywhere near as scary as Danny's.

Kit was watching the two of them like _they_ were the crazy ones.

"What's the plan?" asked Kit, when the quiet started getting uncomfortable, and they both realized Felix wasn't going to contribute more to the conversation.

"There's a plan?" Mallory asked.

"You _are_ a Slytherin." said Felix, absently glancing up from his book. "I don't believe you're going to _take this lying down._"

Alright, fuck Felix. Fuck trying to make him like her. She didn't get what he was thinking or why, and fuck even trying.

"Yeah, I've got something in mind. It's only been a day, and I'm still getting my feet, so."

"And you don't want to tell us incase we go to the teachers." said Felix.

"In part, yeah." Was he _expecting_ her to act like a naughty schoolchild being confronted by the professor?

Felix's lips twitched downwards. "I won't tell the teachers so long as they don't get badly hurt."

Oh. The little pieces that had been confusing her before clicked together into a whole. Felix thought Slytherin House was home of the bullies. And that Mallory was like _them._ She was torn between feeling offended that he thought _Slytherin_ meant _sack of shit_, and delight that he thought her so fearsome that Rowle and her friends had anything to fear from her. She also considered that Felix was the sort of person who cared whether or not his enemies were horribly injured. Right then she vowed to never ever introduce Felix to Danny. That would be a catastrophe.

"Badly hurt?" said Kit cheerfully. "I want their heads on a pike." Nor would Mallory be introducing Kit to Danny. She had a feeling that Kit and Danny would be like a lit match and gasoline together.

Mallory had to fight down a grin before Felix thought she was relishing the idea of beheading Rowle.

"I think I have an idea, and I want you two to help."

"No." said Felix, before Mallory even got to explain what she was thinking.

"Yes." said Kit, and Mallory grinned at her. She thought that would happen.

"Colin and I were talking earlier, and a bunch of muggleborns meet every Friday to talk. I think we should go to them all together, us and Colin."

"Colin?" asked Kit. "I thought we'd be doing something more— "

"We can, but—" Mallory bit her lip. "today Rowle and them, they lit my trunk on fire and cracked my head open. And last night they got the whole Slytherin common room to beat me up, because they want me to leave Hogwarts."

Kit was looking pensive, and Mallory considered that Kit might think Mallory was dragging her into her war.

"But they don't just want me to leave, they want _all_ the muggleborns to leave."

"And you're making yourself harder for them to pick on, so they'll come after us, next." said Felix.

Mallory almost wanted to hiss at him for finding the worst possible interpretation of everything she said.

"No, I want to make it so they're too busy fighting each other to bother with us." said Mallory. She had a whole idea of how she was going to say this, too. It was _snappy_, and Felix ruined it by making her have to spit it out before he could take all the wind out from her sails.

"Which is why we're going to the Muggleborns United club?" said Kit, face scrunched in confusion. "I don't follow."

"My best friend, Danny— he's normal— he always said that the clever thing to do was to try a few things at once, so even if one plan failed, you aren't screwed."

"You're going to have all the muggleborns report them as bullies, or call attention to the anti-muggleborn bigotry at Hogwarts." said Felix, who looked slightly impresesd. Mallory didn't have the heart to burst his bubble.

"Yeah." she said. In reality, that was only one option, and not a good one. The better ones were to find older muggleborns who were powerful magic users. She could convince them to twist the arms of older Slytherins into shutting down Rowle and the others. If _that_ didn't work, she was going to see if anyone wanted to help her blackmail all the Slytherin bullies.

That wasn't even including her plans with the Twins or her gamble on Professor McGonagall's aid.

"But why will they be fighting one another?" asked Kit.

Time to capture their curiosity. "Because I was thinking about the fight on the pitch, today."

"What about it?" asked Felix, brows furrowed.

"Hoop-Boy and Dead-Eyes. Did either of you see the two of them fighting?"

"Who?" a flicker of annoyance crossed his face, and Mallory suppressed the urge to deck him again.

"There were two boys by the hoops. The blonde one was Harper, and the one next to him was Hoop-Boy. I don't know his name. He fired a spell at Dead-Eyes, the boy who was tall with dark hair and eyes—"

"The one who looked like he skins cats for fun?" asked Kit, lips quirked upwards in amusement.

"Yes! That one. So Hoop-Boy hit him with some spell, and the kid _freaked_ and started throwing lightening at him. Before I thought it was an accident, a misfire, but— "

She paused, giving either of them a chance to join in, to see if they were following her train of thought.

"You think _Hoop-Boy_ did it on purpose." said Felix. _Thank you, Felix!_

"Yeah, and it got me thinking how—" and Mallory rubbed her face, resting her forehead on her temples for a moment. She wasn't sure how to put it into words.

"It got me thinking how last night no one spoke up or stopped anyone from beating me up. And I wished someone would, and that's why I helped you, Felix. But, I think no one spoke up because they were afraid, not because they all approved of me being beat up."

Felix scowled at Mallory, and she knew then that she'd stepped on another landmine.

"This doesn't sound very fun." said Kit. And Mallory cursed whatever quirk of chance that had _Mallory_ end up the magical one instead of Danny, because he'd know exactly what to say to get them both on board.

"Right now they think Rowle and Harper will leave them alone so long as they play along. What if they thought that Rowle and Harper would bully them _no matter what?_" Threats only worked so long as people thought that their compliance controlled what happened next. If they complied and still got punished anyway, the incentive to comply goes away.

Felix was giving her a look like she was the scum under his boots, and Kit looked bored.

"It means we get to sneak around after curfew and prank Slytherins." said Mallory, expression deadpan.

"Oh," said Kit, perking up. "I'm game."

* * *

The next time Mallory woke up, she wasn't in the Hospital Wing.

* * *

**Note:**

I will say this here before you start wondering: Mallory's opinions are not necessarily the opinions of the author. When Mallory says "adults love money", that is not commentary on the depravities of modern-day society. That is me imagining what an 11-year-old would think when she sees her parents fussing over bills. Mallory doesn't have much of a concept for "money pays for food."

There is art that goes along with this chapter. On ffnet, it can be found on my profile tagged under "chapter 5." On AO3, it's included as a link here and is in-text.

I removed any references to Angela Winters. I had two plot devices to achieve the same effect: give Mallory experience dealing with bullies. In retrospect, the Angela Winters thing was too involved for what it was meant to accomplish.


	6. The Slytherin Initiation Part 5

Kit fell asleep shortly after Felix left, leaving Mallory to stare at the white-washed walls of the Hospital Wing. She was itching to do something. Sitting still like this for what felt like hours was torture.

She kept imagining that moment when Kit crashed into the ground.

Fiddling with her wand in one hand, Mallory considered what she might've done differently. _Dodging faster_ wasn't a good answer, since Mallory wasn't a good flier and couldn't steer well. She didn't know how to dodge faster.

There hadn't been enough time to come up with a strategy _and_ tell it to Kit. But if she'd told Kit and Felix to avoid the Slytherins in the first place, that could've helped. Felix wouldn't have dove into the Quidditch match, and—

And Rowle would've found some other excuse to start a fight later. But if the fight had occurred on the ground, then falling out of the sky wouldn't have been a possibility.

* * *

Then doors of the Hospital Wing burst open. And Professor McGonagall stormed in, with Snape trailing in behind her. What followed was the twenty most infuriating minutes of her life.

Mallory hadn't told Professor McGonagall about punching Rowle in the nose, or that she knocked the girl's wand out of her hand. Apparently, this was a glaring omission. And Professor McGonagall was _very disappointed_ in Mallory for making her look like a fool in front of Snape.

Snape, that black _oozing_ pile of shit, looked inordently pleased with himself.

"The next time another student threatens you with a wand, you run and fetch a professor." said Professor McGonagall.

"I'll remind you," spoke the most greasy Professor Snape, "there's no evidence Miss Rowle threatened anyone."

"I wanted to run away," said Mallory, ignoring the berk, "but I couldn't."

"Hogwash." said the aforementioned berk.

"Harper can cast this charm that hovers you in the air by your ankle. If I'd ran, he would've cast it again and I'dve been worse off."

"You have no proof young Mr. Harper knows such a spell." hissed Snape.

"I, for one, have heard many reports of Slytherins casting that spell." said Professor McGonagall, giving the loathsome man a _look_. "Though hitting another student is never an acceptable course of action."

Snape sneered down at her from above his great greasy beak. "I have half a mind to have you expelled for this."

"Now, Severus, I'm not sure—"

"She's my student, and I'm her Head of House. As it stands, she's a disruptive menace. If I say she ought to be expelled, she'll be expelled. You don't have the authority here."

Mallory's throat burned and her cheeks were hot. "You're playing _right into their hands._ A bunch of _first years_ are tricking you— this is exactly what Rowle wants."

"You'll do well to be silent, Miss Hopkins." said Professor McGonagall, cheeks tinged red.

The Professor then turned to Snape, "Severus, I'm not saying you don't have that authority, you may do as you like. But it's only the child's first day here."

"Precisely," said Snape, "imagine what she'll be capable of with a Hogwarts education."

"What she'll be _capable of_?" gaped Professor McGonagall. "You're talking about an eleven year old girl."

"A violent troublemaker who's developed a grudge against several of her classmates, some of whom sleep in the same room with her."

Professor McGonagall bristled. "This conversation is inappropriate to be having in front of a child."

Snape stared at Professor McGonagall as though he wished she would melt.

"Regardless," hissed Snape, "the girl must be punished."

"And I agree with you." Said McGonagall. Mallory's heart sank with betrayal.

"Professor—" said Mallory, voice wavering.

"I'll not hear it, young lady." said the witch, "I spoke to Madame Hooch, and I'm appalled. She said it looked like a war out there, a _war._ Whatever this grudge is between you and these other children, it stops now."

"It won't stop. _They_ won't stop. They're doing it because I'm mugglebo—"

"That's not an excuse. You keep engaging them, fighting them and making the situation worse." said McGonagall.

And Mallory sat there in stunned silence, swallowing past the lump in her throat. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. McGonagall should've protected her.

"You saw what they did to Felix," Mallory's voice was small and scratchy. "it was six against one. They really wanted to hurt him."

"Mr. Selwyn reports that Mr. Underwood attacked him." spat Snape.

_I don't even know who that is!_ and _this isn't fair!_ warred to escape her mouth. She took a breath and organized her thoughts.

"Six kids attacked him. _Six._ Hooch blew her whistle and they wouldn't stop. What was I supposed to do, sit there and watch my friend get blasted out of the air?" her voice rose as she spoke, tears blurring her vision.

McGonagall replied. "It's not your responsibility to protect Mr. Underwood, that's the Professor's job."

The words rushed out of Mallory's mouth before she could think. "Then I'll get in the habit of never helping anybody. And one day when I'm an adult, I'll be just like you." she spat. "Unwilling to help _anyone_ because you always expect somebody else handle it."

Snape's lips split into a sinister smile. "Miss Hopkins, I believe you have now earned yourself an expulsion from Hogwarts."

Mallory's face went blank, and her arms felt leaden at her sides.

"My dear Severus," spoke an old wizened man by the entrance to the hospital wing. "perhaps we are being too hasty."

Mallory's head snapped to the door.

Clad in lurid purple-and-green robes, with a long white beard and twinkling eyes, she recognized him from the night before. He was the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore.

"Headmaster." said Snape, nodding. He didn't look surprised, only resigned. McGonagall, on the other hand, _did_ look surprised to see him there.

"Albus." said McGonagall, "I didn't realize—"

"Perhaps you and Severus wouldn't mind waiting out in the hall? I would very much like to speak to the young Miss Hopkins." said the Headmaster. Mallory's hands remained at her sides, clammy and cold.

Snape gave Dumbledore an absolutely vicious glare, and stormed out of the hospital, robes flapping behind him. McGonagall followed him out.

A large squishy armchair sprung into existence with a flick of the Headmaster's wand. He sank into it with a sigh.

"I see you've had quite the evening, Miss Hopkins." said Professor Dumbledore.

Most of her was silently screaming with betrayal and rage, but that didn't stop Mallory's mind cranked into gear. Pointy-chin said Dumbledore defended muggleborns.

"First muggleborn in Slytherin and the first to be expelled on her first day of class." croaked Mallory, "I'll be in the record books."

She didn't know if he knew she was a muggleborn before now. She didn't even know if Pointy-chin told the truth. But here was an opportunity to get the _Headmaster of Hogwarts_ on her side. She was taking it.

The Headmaster chuckled. "A fine thing, a sense of humor."

There was a beat of silence, and Headmaster Dumbledore's silences were much worse than Danny's silences.

"I think I'm glad," she said. "that I got expelled. I'm no good at being a witch, and no one wants me here." Mallory looked down at her hands, wand at her side. It was bait, a hook. No one wanted to hear a child so defeated-sounding. It even worked on her parents, and they _knew_ all her tricks.

"The trials one faces here at Hogwarts are not always easy, but are always useful."

Mallory thought for a moment, trying to puzzle out what the Headmaster was saying.

"You think I shouldn't give up." a beat. "And you're going to stop Snape from expelling me."

"Professor Snape, Miss Hopkins." said the Headmaster.

"Right. That." she said. "but I don't know if I want to stay."

The headmaster folded his hands on his lap, and looked sad. "I see."

"It's not that I don't like magic, or Hogwarts. But I don't feel safe here. And I think the only reason I didn't ask to leave before, was because I didn't want Rowle to win. She wants me to give up, and I want to prove a point to her that muggleborns are just as good as anyone else. But that's not worth breaking bones twice in one day."

"Acting even when you're afraid is a mark of courage, and a choice one must make for themselves, whether or not they're willing to risk their well-being for a cause."

"I'm _plenty_ brave, Headmaster. I knew I'd get my ars— my butt kicked by Rowle today, on the pitch. I did it anyway, because my friend would get hurt worse if I didn't."

"Ah," said the Headmaster, as though what she'd said was deep and enlightening. "I see."

Mallory blinked.

"A great many Gryffindors would applaud what you did this day, Miss Hopkins." said the Headmaster. "Fighting evil has long been the mission of many a champion. But there is more than one way to fight evil, and the wise know that to strike your enemy down is false victory. Better to treat them with kindness and patience, to turn them into an ally if you can."

"Yes, Professor. But I— " speaking back to the Headmaster of Hogwarts was probably a terrible idea. "I don't think they want to be my friends."

Mallory was very confused. If she understood him straight, he was saying she wasn't brave. Then in his next breath saying she was, but not in the way he wanted her to be?

"The path of the righteous is fraught with difficulties, Miss Hopkins. I suggest against giving up before you've even started."

"Yes, Professor."

"Though," the Headmaster lowered his head and stared at her with his bright blue eyes. "I hear a different story from the young Miss Rowle and her compatriots. I would like to hear your own."

Mallory looked down at her lap for a moment, sucking in a deep breath and letting it go. If the _Headmaster_ believed her, he might expel Rowle and Harper. And if Rowle and Harper were busy in detention or otherwise out of the game, Hogwarts would be _wonderful._

"Miss Hopkins?" said the Headmaster, and Mallory looked up.

"It started last night. I told them I was a muggleborn, and they dangled me upside down in the common room and fired hexes at me. Today Rowle, Harper, and Montague burnt my trunk and all my things."

The part of Mallory that operated under a silent rule that you never _ever_ tell a Professor you punched another student cringed. "Rowle baited me, so I punched her. They smacked me so hard into the wall that they cracked my skull open. The whole time, since last night, they've been telling me that if I don't leave Hogwarts, they'll hurt me more and have me expelled."

"And what occurred then at the Quidditch pitch?"

"I made friends with Felix and Kit, and we were playing tag. Felix cut through the Slytherin quidditch match, and this— er, I dunno his name." She couldn't tell Headmaster Dumbledore that she called him _Dead-Eyes_ and that Kit joked that he looked like a young Hannibal Lector.

"I think you're referring to the young Mr. Roderick Selwyn."

The name wasn't familiar. "Sure. Then, he and a few others, Rowle, Montague, the girl with the cokebottle glasses, Harper— they all started casting spells at Felix. Madame Hooch whistled, but they wouldn't stop, and Felix was going to get hurt."

"I have heard," said Professor Dumbledore, "a very different tale from the other Slytherins."

There was silence, and Mallory tried not to fidgit.

"They all have the same story." Mallory said. Said, not asked, because she knew getting their story straight was the first thing they'd do. It was the first thing she would do, after all.

"Indeed. Though the young Miss Jennings and Mr. Underwood have told me stories that sound remarkably similar to your own."

Right. So it was a classic he-said versus she-said. Only the Slytherin bullies far outnumbered Mallory and her friends.

"Then who do you believe, Headmaster?"

"Ah, it is not a matter of belief, but what action will prevent such fights from occurring again." said the Headmaster.

"That's what I want, too, Headmaster." she lied, "I want them to stop."

It might be easier for a professor to punish all the students involved, but it would only make it worse for Mallory. If Kit and Felix got detentions, they might blame her.

And then the bullies wouldn't believe the professors wanted to protect her. Further, they'd know Mallory had to weigh her decision to act against getting more detentions. If anything, it'd embolden them.

But if Dumbledore only punished the bullies, that gave Mallory a threat to use against them.

"This conversation is not about them, Miss Hopkins, but about you."

Mallory's fingers curled into fists in the hospital bed blankets. "I was only acting to defend my friends. Don't— do you want me to grow up to be the sort of person who does nothing while her friends get hurt?"

The Headmaster frowned. "I would not wish that upon anyone, young Miss Hopkins, and I do not believe that is your fate. I only ask that you exercise the caution that House Slytherin is known for in your endeavors."

Mallory wasn't sure what to say to that. "I don't think I'm much of a Slytherin."

"I fear the sorting hat disagrees with you."

Mallory swallowed. "so I can't get my house changed?"

"Ah, no."

"Right," Mallory wiped her cheeks, "so, Kit and Felix aren't in trouble, are they? Kit, I mean, she was following my lead. And Felix had nothing to do with any of it."

She wasn't being kind. Mallory knew them for only a day, and didn't want them to resent her for getting them in trouble on the first day of class. She hadn't thought of that earlier, when she told Felix and Kit that they were attacked on account of her.

Mallory desperately didn't want more enemies. And any allies she made at this point were worth their weight in gold.

"The young Mr. Underwood asserts that he flew through the match on purpose, though not with the intention of injuring any of the participants, and that Slytherin students began firing on him. He also stated that Miss Jennings forced you to help her." said Professor Dumbledore.

Mallory scrunched her face in confusion. What on earth possessed Felix to give the Headmaster _that_ story. It didn't make _any_ of them look good.

"Then Professor Sprout interviewed young Miss Jennings," continued the Headmaster, "who stated that Felix lost control of his broom, and that the Slytherin students fired on him, so she rushed to the defense of her friend."

"I wasn't made to do anything." said Mallory. It was worse than she thought. All of them had given the Professor different stories, which would make them all look like liars.

She thought back to what the twins said before, about McGonagall attempting to comfort her instead of telling her the truth. Professor Dumbledore didn't believe her, he just didn't want to upset the injured child.

"I see. Well, the young Slytherins, besides yourself, all contest that Mr. Underwood was attempting to unseat Mr. Selwyn from his broom, and that they responded in self-defense."

"They're lying." said Mallory.

"That is possible, or perhaps they believe the young Mr. Underwood was attacking them, and responded in kind. Regardless, as Headmaster of Hogwarts, I cannot condone fighting, especially not while aloft. Duelling on broomsticks is exceptionally dangerous."

That, she thought, was a cop-out. Six students firing on one didn't mesh well with the situation.

"But all six firing on Felix at once? Right away? You don't think that's weird?"

"Indeed, that is a good point, Miss Hopkins. However, the students did not confer with one another on who ought to be the one to defend young Mr. Selwyn. In their zeal, they all acted."

That was utter bullshit. Last time the Turner twins started shit, no one stepped up to help them. It was like how no one saved her, last night. Or that time a teacher in elementary school collapsed. Mallory and every other student stood there frozen.

They all hope someone else will take action instead of them.

"I think they planned it." Mallory said.

Felix flew by Dead-Eyes, and there wasn't even a moment of hesitation before they fired.

In Mallory's mind that suggested premeditation, an ambush.

The question was why. Not _why did they want to fire at Mallory_ but _why would they do it within range of a teacher._

Because they knew they could get away with it. Because they expected the duel to go down differently. Differently how? Maybe only one of them was supposed to fire, discreetly, but the other kids felt left out of the action and jumped in? She didn't know.

The Headmaster looked at her with sad eyes. "I would pray you not believe the worst in your classmates, just as I choose not to believe the worst in you."

At that, Mallory felt very uncomfortable. It was becoming a pattern. Felix believed Mallory had sinister intentions. Snape thought she was a danger to her classmates, and now Dumbledore was saying he could believe the worst of her.

She didn't understand. How did two authority figures come to the same conclusion that a victim of bullying is a bad person? It was the first day of school.

But then- Snape was some sort of pureblood fanatic and he wanted her gone. Dumbledore… perhaps Snape spoke to Dumbledore? Maybe it wasn't an independent assessment.

Though that didn't explain Felix. Maybe he just didn't like _any_ Slytherins, and Mallory was taking it personally?

"Ah, I almost forgot." said Professor Dumbledore, interrupting her train of thought. "One Mr. Colin Creevey in the company of Mr. Fred and Mr. George Weasley stopped me in the hallway this afternoon. They wished to inform me that your classmates were bullying you, and that they were worried something might've happened to you. It seems you're amassing quite a collection of loyal friends, Miss Hopkins. Do treat them well."

Mallory then remembered that she had told Colin she'd meet him after class, then never showed. Rowle setting her trunk on fire was bloody inconvenient.

"I will." she said, narrowing her eyes. Snape definitely spoke to Headmaster Dumbledore about her. That was why he wasn't surprised when the Headmaster showed up. But then why did he still try to expel her? He'd looked resigned when the Headmaster told him to tone it down, so he must've known how the Headmaster would react. Maybe he was proving a point?

A threat.

"Now, I believe we need to discuss your punishment. Professor Snape thinks expulsion is the proper course of action, but I believe in second chances. And perhaps, in giving you a second chance you may pass it on to your classmates. A week's worth of detention, I think, would do it." The Headmaster stood. "And of course, for your friends, as well."

"What?" Mallory gaped, "but that's not—"

"Naturally," he continued, "you and the rest of the slytherin first years as well as Ms. Jennings and Mr. Underwood have lost your flying privileges. You will be sitting out the next two flying classes. Perhaps by then you'll have worked out your differences."

Mallory wanted to scream. "Felix didn't do anything!"

"Perhaps, but six students have reported how Mr. Underwood dove straight at Mr. Selwyn, and even you and Miss Jennings don't deny that he flew into the match."

"Then give me detention for two weeks and make theirs for half a week." she said, "it wasn't their fault. They got caught up in my mess."

"Then next time you will consider your friends before you engage in violence."

Mallory wanted to say that Kit would've dive-bombed Montague anyway, but that wouldn't help Kit or Mallory. She clenched her fists and stewed.

"What's happening to Rowle and the others?" she asked instead.

"It's not your concern what happens to them." said the Headmaster. "Now I believe you are meant to rest. Goodnight, Miss Hopkins."

And with that, Dumbledore stood up, vanished his chair, and left the Hospital Wing.

Mallory eyed the door, waiting for McGonagall and Snape to re-appear, but they didn't.

She wanted Danny.

She wanted her friend's mind here with her, to bounce ideas off of— she missed the team they made. He'd know what to do.

As she fell asleep, exhausted, Mallory's mind skittered over the images of wands pointed at Felix, Kit's horrified face as she hit the ground, and the sensation of falling backwards off her broom.

* * *

Shock blasted through her and Mallory gasped— only to suck in water and heave it out, choking and spluttering. She panicked for a moment, submerged in water, only to feel ground below her and kick up, bursting through to the surface, coughing and sucking in great gulps of air.

Blinking water out of her eyes, the first thing she thought was how Madame Pomfrey was going to _kill_ her. Mallory Hopkins was no longer in the Hospital Wing, she was in the Black Lake.

The water rose choppily around her, as she paddled. Was this someone's attempt at drowning her? It was the middle of the night, sky black as pitch.

Then she heard more splashes and spun around, teeth chattering. Four other people had been dumped into the lake. The culprits were on the shore, wearing hooded black cloaks. Where their faces should've been, there was only empty space. She shuddered.

Keeping the Hooded Figures in her peripheral vision, she glanced around, orienting herself.

It was worse than she thought.

They were on the opposite side of the shore, looking across the lake at Hogwarts. The lights were lit in the castle, scattering glimmering reflections across the lake.

The four people who'd been dropped in broke to the surface, kicking and screaming. Mallory expected to see the other muggleborns.

She was wrong.

Rowle, Harper, and the rest of the Slytherin first years were all treading water. She wasn't sure whether she ought to feel relieved, or more alarmed. _What was going on?_

The rest of the first years were yelping, coughing and cursing, spitting outraged cries towards the shore, where a group of tall Hooded Figures stood.

"Out!" one of the Hooded Figures shouted, in a voice that sounded suspiciously like a Slytherin prefect's.

"Get out of the water now! Don't make us come get you!"

Mallory considered swimming in the opposite direction towards the castle. But the water was _freezing_ and now that she was waking up, she was noticing how most of the other first years didn't seem too alarmed.

A hazing ritual, her mind supplied.

And so she paddled toward the shore, with its stupid hooded figures and looming forest. The rest of the Slytherins followed, sopping wet in their nightclothes and barefoot. Mallory was no better off, in her hospital gown. Her ankle, thank the heavens, was entirely healed.

Eight first years followed a pack of hooded figures deep into the forest. Barefoot with their nightclothes sticking in uncomfortable places, they made a sorry bunch. Mallory's legs were caked in mud, and kelp was sticking out of Rowle's hair. They all smelled like lake water, rank and foul.

The tall hooded figures lit their wands like torches, and they winded through the trees. She pegged them as sixth or seventh years. Smaller hooded figures marched alongside the line of first years, to prevent them from running away.

Through gnarled branches and creaking trees they went, with only faint wand light to guide them.

Mallory would've been lying if she said she wasn't afraid. She knew she ought to be worried about where they were taking her, this deep in the forest. Except keeping her footing was taking up all her attention.

Bare feet crunched leaves as she picked her way across the soggy ground. Sticks, brambles, and pine cones laid in wait for her to trip over them.

She hunched over and kept her eyes on the path in front of her, hands shoved in her armpits for warmth. It was _freezing_ out, bloody Scottish weather.

Soon, past gaps in the branches, Mallory could see the flickering of firelight. And the path, which had so far angled upwards, was leveling out to flat, hard ground.

The trees gave way to a circular clearing, with a crowd of Hooded Figures lying in wait. Oh, she was definitely regretting not swimming away. A large bonfire was lit in the middle.

Some part of Mallory's mind imagined them tossing her into the flames. Her steps faltered.

She was shoved forward by her Hooded Figure, and stumbled into the clearing.

They formed a loose semicircle around the fire. Mallory stood next to Rowle and Hoop-boy, shivering. Her dripping hair curled at the nape of her neck, narrow eyes glinting in the fire.

Light illuminated the faces around her. Their expressions were tight, eyes wide open. Fear.

Mallory's eyes flicked to the Hooded Figures, talking among one another. Something in the tone of conversation, in the lilt of their voices, spoke of a wild sort of anticipation.

Mallory's gut clenched, and she shuffled from foot to foot. Couldn't stand waiting, not with this kind of energy choking the air.

One Hooded Figure stepped forward, and all conversation stopped. The night became deathly still, but for the crackling of the fire.

Mallory's hairs stood on end.

The crowd's attention was fixated on that one person, cloaked in black.

Any second now, they'd start talking. But they didn't. Mallory's eyes flicked across the crowd of Hooded Figures and first years. All eyes were on the figure, but some people were starting to look at one another. Fidgeting.

One girl was hugging herself, and Cokebottles was clutching the girl's arm in what must've been a painful grip.

The Hooded Figure flourished its wand at the bonfire. And it exploded into green flames.

Wand still raised, the Figure spoke. "Today was your first full day as proper witches and wizards." Female voice, familiar.

She walked slowly as she spoke, her gait smooth and unhurried. At ease with the setting, with the barely-constrained violence of the circle.

Her voice was soft, and Mallory had to strain to hear her.

"But more importantly," said the Hooded Figure, "tonight is the night you are welcomed as members of the ancient and exalted Slytherin House."

Now that she heard that quiet voice twice, Mallory recognized it. The prefect, Gemma Farley.

"For one-thousand-and-two years, Slytherin House has stood as a beacon of nobility and prestige. And now, that mantle falls to you."

Another Hooded Figure stood forward, "This is a heavy weight you must bear, and bear it you shall. For the traditions and secrets of our ancestors are fading. Much has been lost in the thousand years since Hogwarts was raised."

Farley spoke again. "We are the few, the powerful, the last bulwark against a rising sea of ignorance."

"But you," said the other Hooded Figure, "you are the lowliest of us, feeble-minded and foolish."

Rowle visibly twitched next to Mallory. She looked as though she'd love to smack that hooded figure across his face.

"In your homes and outside House Slytherin, you may be revered and loved for your ancestry and your might. But among us, you are the lowliest of the low. Of the secrets of House Slytherin, you know nothing."

"Of the ancient artifacts passed down from Slytherin to Slytherin, you know nothing."

"Of the secrets and mysteries of Slytherin House, you know nothing."

They were switching back and forth, and the effect was mesmerizing. Mallory wondered how many times they practiced to get down the eerie echo and timing right.

The male's voice was loud and bombastic, which contrasted well with Farley's quieter tone. It didn't allow Mallory to get caught up in the rhythm of it.

The crowd of Hooded Figures were standing straighter. Their words were having an _effect._ Something greater than pride was growing here.

Standing straight but unable to stand _still_, wands twitching in their hands with half-aborted spell movements. This was a crowd that wanted blood.

The faces of her fellow first years reflected her own fears. Their wide eyes were flicking around the clearing. Looking for an opportunity to run. Prey.

"But this," spoke Farley, strong and sibilant, "this is why we're here. To train you, to guide and shape you into suitable representatives of our House."

"Every first year will be assigned a mentor from the second year Slytherins. If they order you to do something, you do it. I don't care if they ask you to shine their shoes like a house-elf. If they tell you to do something, _you do it._"

"However," said Farley, "should I find that you mentors are abusing your position, you _will_ be punished."

But there was a good chance that the seventh years wouldn't give a shite when Mallory complained to them. Those same prefects were in the common room when her yearmates dangled her upside down and cursed her.

"Harper!" called the male Hooded Figure.

The fidgeting and twitching of the crowd ceased. Utter stillness. Mallory's breath caught in her throat. This was it, something was about to happen.

"Yes, sir." Harper's voice came out as a squeak, eyes so wide open the whites were showing.

"Your mother committed a great betrayal to our cause." His voice was sharp and cold.

"Yes, sir." But Harper said it like it was a question.

"She taught you levicorpus, a Slytherin spell, which must not be taught to outsiders."

Mallory didn't know what a Slytherin spell was, but corpus sounded like _corpse_ and levi was found in the word _levitate._ Just last night Harper used a spell to dangle her by her ankle in the air. That wasn't a coincidence.

"Yes, sir." He had tried to show off, except now it was backfiring.

The crowd of hooded figures erupted into low mutters, _angry_ whispers.

"Had you not been sorted into Slytherin, one more secret of our sacred house would be lost to the masses. Are you ashamed?"

"Yes, sir." Harper sounded angry, and his face was scrunched up as though he were fighting constipation. It was hard to tell with the eerie green light from the flames, distorting the view.

"You revealed that your mother broke the rules of Slytherin, showing you're not only a traitor, but are stupid as well. Are you ashamed?"

"Yes, sir."

"Tell everyone why you're ashamed."

"Be-because I'm stupid."

"And why else?"

"Because my mother betrayed Slytherin." He didn't sound convincing.

Mallory had to admit to herself, that she was almost enjoying this. A large part of her whispered how it was very wrong to enjoy shaming Harper, and that publicly humiliating him was mean, but the leaky arsehole deserved it.

"Say it again, and louder."

"I'm stupid and my mother is a traitor."

"Again!"

"I'm stupid and my mother is a traitor!" Harper shouted, voice wobbling like he wanted to cry. Oh, she _did_ feel bad now. Though coupled with that was revulsion. She felt _sorry_ for _Harper._ Surely hell was freezing over.

"All right, all of you, line up!" said the Hooded Figure.

They formed a line in place, with Harper at the front, facing them.

"Many of you," said Farley, "know spells. Curses, hexes, and jinxes. I want you to cast the strongest magic you know at Harper. He is to be shamed. Do you understand?"

The initiates nodded. But Mallory was at war with herself. What sort of test _was_ this? In books, there was always the brave hero, who refused to punch the victim. But that'd be a test for Gryffindors or Hufflepuffs. This was the house of cunning. What was the clever thing to do, here? Moreover, there were a hundred ways to embarrass Harper, why this one?

"And Harper, you're not to move from this spot." said the male Hooded Figure. "If they cast the killing curse at you, you stand there and take it."

Farley placed a hand on the male Hooded Figures shoulder, and said "As a note, any permanent spells, or unforgiveable curses will land you straight on the train back home. Not that we think you can _cast_ any spells like that, but if you can, don't."

A second thought occurred to her. None of them had their wands. How were they supposed to cast _jinxes_ without wands? A rising panic struck her in the throat, because the only wandless magic she knew was levitating small objects for a short period of time, and that only worked if she concentrated for a while.

Then a Hooded Figure stepped up, and withdrew a clutch of wands. Oh.

They were giving them their wands back.

The smaller Hooded Figures, her future mentors, were muttering among themselves, and Mallory was able to pick on words like "wager" and "money's on—." This was their entertainment.

Roderick Selwyn, the one she called Dead-Eyes, went first.

He took his wand from the Hooded Figure, and flourished it at Harper, who flinched.

Selwyn laughed, and it was a cold sound. The Slytherin first years inched backwards away from the lunatic boy, who stood two meters away from the terrified face of Harper. Green light exaggerated the pall in Harper's expression.

Or maybe, thought Mallory, he was just that afraid.

"_Baubillious!_" shouted Selwyn. A yellow bolt of lightning spat out of his wand and struck Harper, who screamed. Selwyn giggled with delight.

Mallory winced. She knew _that_ spell. It was the one Rowle used on her during the Battle on the Pitch. It caused a sharp burst of pain, like you were being electrocuted.

Harper trembled in place, and Selwyn swaggered to the back of the line. There was something bent in that boy's head.

Next was Montague, wearing a grim look about him.

"_Everte Statum._" he intoned, flicking her wand in the prescribed pattern.

Nothing happened. Montague looked up at the Hooded Figure, eyes wide with a sort of horror on his face that could only be described as a cross between mortification and mortal terror.

"Try again." said the Hooded Figure.

The boy nodded and cast the spell once more.

No one spoke, for he had failed again. The initates tensed in anticipation. Surely something terrible would befall him, the boy who failed the test.

"For the rest of this night," said the Hooded Figure, "you must kneel."

Montague nodded, and looked relieved. He knelt on the ground, which was covered in leaves and pinecones.

"Now go to the end of the line." It was obvious when Montague realized he'd have to shuffle past all six first years on his knees. His cheeks colored and eyes teared. Mallory gave him a little mocking grin as he shuffled past her. That was two of her tormenters, embarrassed in front of all the second, seventh, and first year Slytherins. The Hooded Figures were doing her work _for_ her.

Cokebottle-glasses was up next, and she marched up to Harper like she was on a mission. Armed with her wand, she fired her spell.

"_Diffindo!_"

It was as though a blade slashed through the air and sliced open Harper's cheek. The boy doubled over, clutching his bleeding face. A few hooded figures in the crowd whistled and cheered. First blood.

Mallory's hands grew clammy at her sides. The part of her that found this whole event _awful_ screamed. It wasn't funny anymore.

Next was a girl Mallory didn't know, with long brown hair and a nervous disposition.

She was shaking, and looked like she was about to burst into tears at any second.

"S-scourgify!" she said, and her spell did nothing. The girl let out a little gasp, eyes wide as saucers, and cast again.

"Scourgify!" It worked. Or at least, Mallory assumed it did, because everyone but her started giggling and the Hooded Figures gestured that the girl should go to the back of the line.

Hoop-boy went next. And he didn't even look at Harper when he cast. Instead, he flashed a sly smile at Selwyn and cast _locomotor mortis._

Harper's legs snapped together and he fell over backwards with surprised _oof!_ Several people giggled.

From that interaction, it wasn't hard to guess that Selwyn and Hoop-boy were enemies. Hoop-boy fired on Dead-Eyed Selwyn before, during the Battle on the Pitch.

Darla Rowle gave Harper a bland smile, and fired "*Alarte Ascendare!"

The spell made a loud _bang!_ and Harper shot about a meter into the air, before falling.

And then it was Mallory's turn.

The hero Mallory wanted to be would've refused to cast any spell. She would've stood there and said no, calmly and clearly so everyone could hear her. But every other first year attempted to cast a spell at Harper. She'd be the odd one out.

The silence grew as Mallory hesitated. They wouldn't think she was brave, they'd think her stupid. It'd make her look weak, like a victim they could kick around. Her fallback plans were limited to the long-shot with the muggleborn club and the twins. The professors weren't going to help her. And she knew she couldn't take a full week of being beaten down like today.

So Mallory made a decision.

"_Incendio!_" she cast, pouring her will into the spell.

Harper yelped when the spell caught his pajamas on fire, and immediately started rolling around on the ground. The flames spluttered out almost immediately.

Mallory expected to feel gratification, or a sliver of rightous justice at getting to punish her hated foe. But all she felt was sadness.

The Hooded Figure nodded, and Mallory went to the back of the line. She didn't pay any attention to the faces of her fellow initiates as she walked to the back.

It was wrong to cast that spell at Harper, she knew. More wrong than gluing Robbie Turner's shoes to his desk, and then stuffing them with sheep shit. But Mallory could imagine the sequence of events that would follow her refusal to participate. They wouldn't have the students line up to jinx her, they'd do something worse. Defection had to be punished harshly to prevent anyone else from following in her example.

But Mallory didn't want their acceptance. That was harder to remember, while she was going through the initation ritual. And it occurred to her that maybe _that_ was the reason for all the pomp and ceremony. It was to make the young students think Slytherin House was worth getting getting jinxed over.

And it was as though some part of Mallory _knew in advance_, because she wasn't surprised when the hooded figure called her name next.

* * *

Author's Note: Corresponding illustration on profile.


	7. The Slytherin Initiation Part 6

AN: It is pitch black. You are likely to be eaten by a grue.

* * *

"Stand where Harper stood." said the Hooded Figure. Mallory went, and was only a little afraid. The Hooded Figures healed Harper immediately after Mallory was done with him. They weren't going to leave her there to bleed out in the forest, alone.

Another part of her whispered how that was exactly what they'd do, given the chance. Mallory wasn't expelled, and didn't choose to leave Hogwarts, like they asked her to do. They'd teach her a lesson, hurt her badly enough that she'd have to go home. And it'd be her fault for being _foolish._

Escaping the clearing wasn't even an option. There were at least ten seventh years and a gaggle of second years scattered around the edges of the clearing. She wouldn't make it more than a meter.

"Now, before we begin," said the Hooded Figure, "I will give you a piece of Slytherin wisdom. If you really used your strongest spell to hit Mr. Harper, then you're a witless oaf. Never give away your advantage if you don't have to!"

Ah, so that was their game. A challenge of strategy disguised as a simple punishment exercise.

"Likewise, if you rat each other out to the professors or to Snape, you're a traitor and aren't trustworthy." He had his arms raised as though he were one of those religious cult leaders preaching to a congregation.

The Hooded Figure twisted to face Mallory, an empty hole where his face should be, "Why are you standing here, Miss Hopkins?"

There were several answers she could give, and she only had moments to sort through them. She wanted to say _Because I'm muggleborn,_ but that would only remind the Slytherins that she wasn't one of them.

Mallory gave her best Rowle-like smirk, "Because I'm not trustworthy."

"That's right!" said the Hooded Figure, "You're a traitor, a rat, the scum of the earth. Incapable of solving your own problems so you go crawling to the professors for help. Too weak to defend yourself, and too stupid to know when to bow down to your betters."

Mallory had a great deal of practice not bowing to those in power. In fact, it was her inability to respect authority that made her and Danny such great friends. They bonded over it. And whenever mum got called into a parent-teacher conference, with the words _confrontational_ and _disrespectful_ being bandied about, Mallory would feel a small sliver of pleasure because she was no drone, thank you very much. Glad to have that acknowledged.

So she pulled that over her like a shield, and their words bounced off like crepe paper.

"What are you, Hopkins?" demanded the Hooded Figure.

The mentors, the rigid pecking order, there were several ways this could go. Right now she was at the bottom of the pile. Only place to go was up. Now was the time for risky gambits and plays she couldn't make if she weren't in last place.

"A traitor, a rat, and, uh, unwilling to bow. Definitely that." she said. She knew what his next action would be. She was practically begging for him to do it.

"Well, you're going to bow right now." he said. "Bow to your betters, Hopkins."

And he fell for it. Perfect.

Mallory bowed deeply, waving her arms in an exaggerated fashion reminiscent of Fred and George, clearly mocking. _I will never seriously acknowledge you as my better. It'll always be fake, and I'm mocking you._

While the Slytherin side of Mallory howled that she was being stupid, the part of her that was convinced they were going to torture her regardless of what she did, didn't want to give them the pleasure of seeing her cower.

She was ashamed, ashamed of her inability to stand up to her peers and _not_ jinx Harper. Once tonight she'd betrayed her sense of ethics. Mallory wouldn't do it again.

More than that, this was a play. The male Hooded Figure was trying too hard to be scary. He was bombastic, loud, and _nervous._ If he stumbled here, it'd give give the first years momentum. Disrupt the flow of the initiation. It was hard to be the first to defy authority, but once one person stood up, others would follow.

A division between the first years and upper years would form, with upper years angered at their loss of face. They might even stop defending Rowle and the rest of the first year Slytherins. If it worked, she'd be depriving the bullies of their protection.

But then it all went terribly wrong.

Farley stepped forward, and the crowd of Hooded Figures stilled, as though they were bracing themselves.

"Clearly," said Farley, "no one's taught you how to bow."

"'Fraid I'm not the bowing sort."

Farley threw back her head and laughed. As if on cue, the rest of the Hooded Figures began laughing, as well.

"We have a cheeky one, here. Can anyone tell me what we do to the cheeky ones?" asked Farley.

And Mallory was a hair too slow, opening her mouth just as another Hooded Figure answered.

"We play with them."

"That's right, we play with them. Mallory Hopkins, do you know what us seventh years do to children?"

There was a moment where she could've diffused this— but Mallory missed it. Though— "You buy me an action figure?" Mallory said, injecting childish curiosity into her tone. Break expectations, try to keep her foe on her back foot.

"A wha— nevermind. No, we do _horrible things_ to children like you."

Damnit. She'd thought to derail the conversation with— "Action figures are collectibles," she said. Fuck it, she'd try anyway. "They're expensive, and—"

"What's the worst thing you can imagine, Mallory Hopkins?" the girl said, voice soft and sibilant in the night.

A trap, definitely a trap. "Oh, I can imagine _loads_ of things. Like this one time, I glued my classmate's trainers to his desk, and he had to walk around all day barefoot. He felt like a real—"

"You know, that gives me an idea." said Farley, tone deceptively light. And Mallory hoped, _prayed_ that the girl picked up her suggestion.

"You're going to get on your knees and kiss the hem of my robes." she said, "and you're going to do it without mockery or complaint, or I will curse you so terribly that you'll feel it for days."

A number of hooded figures twitched or took a step backwards, and Mallory wondered if that was rehearsed as well, like the laughing had been, or if they were really that scared of Farley.

It wasn't going according to plan.

She had hoped the girl would latch onto the word _barefoot_ and have her kiss her classmates' bare feet. Mallory had planned on opening her mouth grotesquely and informing them how she was going to slobber her muggleborn germs _all over_ them. They'd squeal with disgust and back away, further loosening Farley's grip on the situation.

But that wasn't what happened. Mallory sighed and flopped to her knees.

"No. Get up and do it again."

Mallory rolled her eyes and stood back up, brushing off her knees for effect. Then she straightened her hospital dress, picking off leaves and dried kelp. Stalling.

If Farley cast a spell on her at this point, it'd be a concession. And it might also weaken the Hooded Figures' general aura of scariness. Farley would know this, and hesitate to cast anything.

Far better to allow each individual first year to imagine what horrible things the Hooded Figures might do to them. Their own personal worst fears motivating them to obey.

In a flash, there was a wand digging into Mallory's throat. "I won't ask again. Kneel."

Or maybe Mallory was reading the situation wrong. She knelt.

"Good obedient little mudblood." And it took all of Mallory's willpower not to roll her eyes or make a face. All of it.

But that wasn't enough. "Are you a good, obedient little mudblood?" asked Farley.

"Yes." Mallory ground out.

"Well, go on and say it."

"I'm a good mudblood." In truth, it wasn't the word _mudblood_ that got to her. It was calling her obedient. Being called obedient or respectful made her shudder in the same way it made her feel vaguely ill to be called a good child. It stunk of boring. Of a life spent living up to everyone's expectations and never having an original thought or proper adventure, not ever.

And it showed. She was unable to make herself say the words. She imagined Farley smiling, shark-like behind the spell that made her face appear like a blank space.

There was blood in the water.

The Hooded Figure folded her arms behind her body, adopting the pose and intonation of a professor. "Are you a good, obedient child, Miss Hopkins?"

Her skin itched and her stomach churned. Mind twisting and— "Oh, _absolutely._ I'm the most obedient child there ever was. I—"

A spell hit her, and suddenly everything was _wrong._ The cloth brushing against her skin burned with every movement, and the cold from the air stung like shards of glass.

"That was a supersensory charm. Right now everything aches, and it'll only get worse until I release it. But I'm merciful, and instead of having my compatriots curse you with our most painful spells, I'll allow your year mates to do it."

The girl's words stabbed her ears, and she flinched at every single one. The green bonfire was like looking into the sun, far too hot. Mallory almost threw up at the smell of earth, rot and the sweet smell of decay, overlaid with lake water and unwashed students.

She couldn't _think._ Time was warping oddly, brain distracted by sensation.

Dead-eyed Selwyn stood in front of her, an empty smile twisting his face into a caricature of amusement. Mallory forced herself to her feet. Fuck this, fuck this so much.

"Give me—" she almost hurled, "your best shot, pimpledick." Bad idea, to taunt a clearly demented nutcase, but the bravado was necess—

"_Everte Statum._" the creepy boy hissed, and Mallory's world went white, pain crowding out every other thought.

She was on her knees, gasping. The embarrassing truth of it was, she screamed like a baby. In the background, she heard them laughing.

"I— " Mallory cleared her throat. "Well, that woke me up." Hunched over she tilted her head up, allowing a wry grin to color her face. More importantly, meeting the eyes of her year mates.

Unlike the seventh and second years, her year mates weren't laughing.

Lame joke, but she was laughing in the face of Selwyn, where Harper had cowered in fright.

Massively underestimated how far Farley would take this. First instinct that disobedience would be met with disproportionate retribution was correct. Over-thought it.

Montague was next, still on his knees. Mallory staggered to her feet. Wouldn't remain kneeling in front of them. Sweat dripped from her brow at the exertion, mixing with the damp from the lake.

She met Montague's eyes and grinned. Looking for retribution. Selwyn mocked him by correctly casting the spell Montague tried and failed to cast. He'd overcompensate, crack under pressure.

Kneeling on the forest floor he cast, "_Diffindo!_"

Wrong again.

Blood seeped through her hospital gown, the cut running diagonally across her chest. There was a frantic note to her breathing. It wasn't that deep, she told herself. It hurts terribly because of the spell, not because she was dying.

Searing agony radiated from the cut, the rest of her skin prickling and burning where the wind and cloth touched it. Her feet _stung._

It was getting worse.

Cokebottles was up. Green light glinted off her glasses from the bonfire. Mallory squinted, too bright.

"_Diffindo!_" Across her arm this time and Mallory staggered, pain so sharp she gagged.

She shook with the effort to stay on her feet, knees wobbling. Her hands were cold and clammy, pressing against the cut on her chest. It wasn't deep, she told herself.

Next one up.

"_Scourgify!_" Met her eyes and saw the girl was afraid— _the cleaning spells were funny at first but any second now they'd realize she didn't know any real spells. She was so in over her_—

Mallory fell to her knees. Couldn't stand.

Hoop-boy's face was pale, he didn't like this. "_Colovaria!_"

No pain, and people laughed. Mallory looked down at herself— nausea at the motion— her skin was orange. Bright orange. She let out a hoarse laugh. Hoop-boy was good people.

Fuck, she wished she knew the color-changing spell _before_ she lit Harper on fire.

Then Rowle stood in front of her, and Mallory couldn't will herself to her feet. Wouldn't work. She was doubled over, on the ground in front of Rowle for the second time in one day. Hated that. Hated how her gut was churning and her hands were shaking. Hated how she feared what Rowle would do.

"Did it on purpose." Mallory gasped out, "fell over. You were so scared, I wanted to laugh." Trying to make her angry, make her do something stupid, distract her from casting.

Rowle whipped her wand forward with a flourish, lips curled into a mocking smile.

No reaction. Fuck, she wasn't catching on.

"In the hall—" "_Lumos maxima!_"

Mallory's world exploded in white, like someone stabbing shards of glass in her eyes. She screamed loud and high, pressing her hands to her face to block out the light but it _wasn't helping._

Curled on the ground, face buried in the dirt with her eyes tearing and nose dripping, Mallory knew she looked pathetic.

Was Farley's point. Make her look weak and stupid. _This_ was what defiance bought you.

Harper was next. She didn't hear what he said, the white-hot pain drowned everything out—

* * *

Someone woke her up with a spell, and Mallory lay there dazed for a moment. Everything hurt— everything. Each breath felt like someone was stabbing her back, and the pine cones and sticks digging into her legs burned like fire.

She was left trying to take in shallow breaths, not moving a single centimeter for fear of making it worse.

"Will you bow?" said Farley, leaning over her, "or would you like your classmates to have another go at you?"

There was a piece of her that said no, but it was overridden by the horrible terrible burning pain that was encompassing the rest of her.

"Yes." she gasped.

"Good, get up." And Mallory waited a beat, expecting the girl to take off the spell now that she'd complied, but—

She had to get up with the spell still going. Her heart stuttered in her chest as Mallory inched upwards, pain in every joint, muscles screaming like she'd broken—

Farley laughed. "And so we meet the real Mallory Hopkins. Under all that talk, too weak to handle a simple supersensory charm. My my, what a shame."

The moment the spell was taken off felt like flipping a switch. Pain that was a solid eleven before was now a manageable five. She sat there for a moment, just breathing.

"You will bow to your betters, and then you will drop to your knees and kiss the hem of my robes. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Mallory rasped, voice hoarse from screaming. Her mind was buzzing with static, strangely disjointed from what was happening.

She saw herself bow, and then get down on her knees and kiss Farley's robes. It didn't feel like her. Some other girl had done it, some not-Mallory, because Mallory didn't kneel and kiss people's robes.

"— should teach you a valuable lesson of placing your pride before reason. You all bow in the end. But you can do it screaming in pain, or in comparative comfort. Your choice."

Her classmates were laughing at her, as she got up slowly off the ground.

Farley pointed to the end of the line, and Mallory went.

After that, the male Hooded Figure spoke, "And those of you who changed your spells to weaker spells the second time around? You're imbeciles, the lowliest of the first years, lower than the young Miss Hopkins. You just revealed to your classmates that the first spell you used was your strongest spell."

"Unless, of course," said Farley, "you switched to a weaker spell to fool us into thinking the previous spell your strongest spell. Mentors, that riddle is aimed at you! How cunning are your mentees?"

Mallory stood behind Harper, now at the back of the line. She couldn't stop shaking. Her muscles were clenched tight and she was breathing hard. Couldn't stand still.

The pain itself was gone but the memory of it was burned into her skull. _Adrenaline,_ whispered a part of her brain that sounded a lot like her dad. _Take deep slow breaths, try to relax._

"There are more of you here that have shamed Slytherin House. Darla Rowle, step forward!"

Mallory's head, stuffed with cotton wool and thankfully healed from the cutting charms, didn't register an emotion at that. She thought she ought to, that seeing Rowle get tortured would make her feel a little better, but it meant nothing to her.

"Darla Rowle, do you know why you're standing here, in front of me?"

"No, sir." The girl's face might've been carved out of porcelain for all the emotion she expressed.

"So you didn't instigate a fight that lost our House three-hundred-and-fifty points?"

"I only did it to protect our House's honor." Face lit in green, Rowle looked fragile, staring up at the looming hooded figures.

"You're a first year. You don't know anything about plotting, and even less about this House's honor. Tell me, why didn't you leave it to us to handle?"

"Because," her words crisp, "I thought the older years were disinterested. You all have such important problems, and—"

"Liar."

Rowle's face twisted with rage. "You weren't doing anything about her! You—"

A commotion outside the circle drew her attention.

Snapping twigs and furious footfalls preceded another hooded figure bursting into the clearing. He huffed and panted with exertion. This one's hood was down, revealing a pale face, damp with sweat.

"Professors," the lookout gasped, "they're coming."

Everyone stopped what they were doing, murmured conversations halting mid-word.

"What do you mean, professors are coming?" spoke Farley, voice sharp.

"A whole lot of them by the lake! They're headed right this way, like they know we're here."

There was a moment of stunned silence while everyone absorbed the news.

From there, it devolved into chaos.

First years were barreled over by fleeing hooded figures. One shoved past Mallory, almost knocking her off her feet. Half a dozen disappeared in a wave, like a ripple spreading outwards. Not true invisibility, she realized a moment later, when she saw blurry outlines running towards the edge of the clearing.

She was supposed to be in the hospital wing, Mallory thought, as she backed up to the edge of the clearing.

If she got caught, she'd get more detentions. Mallory already had a week of detentions from Dumbledore _and_ Snape's detentions for disrespect. At this rate, she'd be in detention from now until the holidays.

"Seventh years," Farley hollered over the mess, "split up, don't take the path, they'll be coming that way. First years, follow the seventh years! Everyone, follow the seventh years! Let's go!"

Which was exactly what they did, fleeing like rats from a sinking ship.

Heart thudding in her chest, Mallory tore off after the nearest hooded figure.

Five steps past the clearing it became pitch black and almost impossible to see. She could barely glimpse the seventh year she was supposed to follow.

A flash of his cloak billowing, and Mallory darted right, muddy feet sliding on slick ground.

The snap of branches, glints of moonlight through gaps in the treeline, and the harsh rasp of heavy breathing were her guide.

They weren't on the path anymore. Brambles scraped across her legs as she stumbled after him. A branch whipped her face, slicing her forehead.

She couldn't see more than a few meters in front of her because the trees were so fucking close together.

Underbrush was getting thicker and she was falling behind. Shite. She put on a burst of speed and almost tripped over a fallen log in her haste.

Slipping on wet moss, she skidded into a small clearing. Her head flittered back and forth for some hint at where her guide went.

Nothing.

_Fuck._

Mallory hunched over, hands on her knees, catching her breath. Needed a moment. Maybe the seventh year would realize his first year fell behind, and he'd turn around. No need to panic just yet.

Wood splintered behind her. Two footfalls came tumbling through the underbrush, and Mallory whipped out her wand, slinking into shadows beneath a tree.

_Double fuck._

Darla Rowle and Leland Harper stumbled into the moonlight.

In the gaps between trees, Rowle's blonde hair looked silvery. Matted curls tangled and stuck to her face.

Harper panted next to her, lips down-turned and wand clutched tightly in his palm.

"Who's out there?" Rowle demanded, voice wobbling.

Mallory stepped out of the gloom and into the dim moonlight. She couldn't hesitate, not around someone like Rowle.

"The mudblood." groaned Harper, rolling his eyes.

Rowle shoved past him. "The seventh year, you were following the seventh year?"

"Yeah, I lost him." Mallory said, eyes flicking between Harper and Rowle.

"Tell me where he went." demanded Rowle, mouth drawn in a firm line.

"I don't know," Mallory shrugged, "he was there one minute and gone the next."

Rowle let out a sigh, breath fogging the air. "I should've known better than to ask _her._"

A step behind, always a step behind. Mallory cursed her honesty. Should've just pointed and said he went that way, feign an injured ankle as the reason she'd stopped. Alone in the woods with Harper and Rowle? Bad plan.

But she was bone-tired, still processing the last half hour. Some part of her was back in that clearing, tangled up in their energy, that thrice-blasted _anticipation._ Couldn't shake it off.

Eyes prickling, dry, she should've been asleep hours ago. A low pounding headache was beginning behind her eyes.

Harper turned to face Rowle. "now what?"

"I remember the last four turns," Rowle said, "and after that, it's straight from there to the clearing."

Harper raised an eyebrow. "You can remember? Because I barely can and I—" he broke off, "I have a _really_ good memory."

Rowle's lips turned up in a little smile. "I have a _really good memory,_ too."

Strange emphasis on those words, thought Mallory, scrabbling to catch up to the conversation. Code for something, some kind of magic? A spell that gave them better recall.

"Sounds good." said Harper, giving Mallory a sidelong glance.

Couldn't talk about it while Mallory was here. Something illegal? Leverage she could hold over their heads later. Mallory made a mental note to ask Fred and George, when she got the chance.

Rowle clasped her hands behind her back and took two dainty steps towards Mallory.

"You're not going to follow us." She said, not a suggestion but a demand. Her head was cocked slightly to the side and her eyes were open wide in a mockery of innocence.

Mallory nodded, "Fair enough, I'm good with that."

Rowle drew back, blinking rapidly in surprise. "you are?"

Fuck. She'd thrown Rowle off-balance. She hadn't meant to do that. She was still too slow, mouth opening before she had the chance to think.

"I mean, you're an arse, Rowle. Don't leave me in the woods all alone."

Rowle didn't want to _agree_ with the mudblood. She was expecting a confrontation, assumed that Mallory would want to come with them.

"_Right,_" Rowle said, eyes glinting with emotion. "you know which way he went, don't you?"

Mallory sagged, pretending to be caught-out. "I saw him go that way. But it's no use, now. He's long gone."

Go back to the clearing, leave her alone. She could re-group without additional variables gumming up the works. Didn't need to be watching her back in _addition_ to being lost in the woods.

"Darla," said Harper, voice strained and hesitant, "I think she should come with us."

"What? No, why?" Rowle had her back to Mallory, facing Harper.

"Think about it." he said.

"I am thinking about it and I don't—"

"Hospital gown. Some idiot took her from the hospital wing. Probably think we're all out here, offing her in the woods."

"But we're _not._" she said, almost stomping her foot. Her arms were folded across her chest, like she was hugging herself. Anger?

Mallory wasn't sure what the dynamic was between them, where things stood. The uncertainty wasn't a good thing, too many options, too many ways this could go down. Adrenaline shot up Mallory's spine. This could get _ugly,_ an argument here and now.

"If she turns up dead in the woods tomorrow, do you know who they'll be interrogating? Us." Harper either was pushing Rowle to prove a point, or didn't _get_ her.

Rowle was pampered, rich, used to getting her way. When she didn't, she turned _mean._ The sort who'd do anything to win and then rub your nose in it.

"This isn't the Forbidden Forest." said Rowle, who sounded very cross. "Now come along and stop _arguing with me._"

Mallory shifted gears, wand gripped tightly in her closed fist. She knew all of two spells: the fire-making charm and the mending charm. If a fight broke out, she was fucked.

But if she got up behind Rowle and used her as a shield—

"She's a mudblood," said Harper, "weaker than us. She might actually freeze to death out here."

Rowle sighed, unfolding her arms. "You know, I was waiting to bring this up until later."

Shifting the topic, putting Harper on his back foot. And neither of them were paying any mind to Mallory. Instead of sneaking _toward_ Rowle, it might be better to sneak backwards into the dark.

Slip away while the two of them were distracted.

Mallory took a step back and a branch _cracked,_ the sound eerily loud in the dead-silence of the woods.

Rowle glanced back, and then refocused on Harper. "You've been trailing after me all day."

"_What?_" Harper drew back like he was stung.

"That's not an insult, it's a compliment. You know I'm the only one in our year who will get you what you want."

Mallory stopped mid-motion, intrigued. _What?_

"What I want?" echoed Harper.

"Reputation, power, the resources to become a powerful wizard, in spite of your blood."

For a moment Mallory wondered if that was aimed at her, only to realize that Harper _wasn't a pureblood,_ and she was so confused—

Harper stood there stiff as a board. "And why would you be willing to offer me help?"

"Because someone like you?" Rowle said, prim. "You're _hungry._ You'll be trying harder in every class, learning spells because you want power, not just to pass the test."

"You want me to be your muscle." Harper's voice was dry.

Not what he wanted. Harper was ambitious.

A second thought crossed Mallory's mind. So this was what Rowle looked like when she was trying. Scary. Was this as much for her benefit as it was for Harper's? A display of power, if she cowed Harper here and made him her minion.

Rowle opened her mouth. "Do you really want to keep debating this? For a mudblood?"

"I—" Harper stuttered. "No, but—"

"Alright, then. Let's go."

"Wait," said Harper. "what if she really _does_ freeze to death? I mean, won't we get in trouble?"

Rowle looked back at Mallory, smiling. "Maybe she does, maybe she doesn't. Whatever happens, if my dad finds we're being singled out, he'll go to the board and complain."

In the long run, her enemies being _separate_ and carrying resentment towards one another worked in Mallory's favor. If a fight broke out now, it'd be bad. But in the long run— _think fast._ Had to disrupt the flow of conversation, muck up Rowle's narrative.

"Money can't solve everything." Mallory said, mouth running as fast as her brain could come up with words. Harper had ambition, cared about his reputation—

"Word gets out Hogwarts is funded because of a cover-up. If you ever go for some political career, people will look into that sort of thing, dig up dirt."

"Money," said Rowle, "can buy silence, too."

Mallory let out a laugh. "You know what she's doing, right?" she was talking past Rowle and right at Harper.

"Second she gets her hooks in you, she has you for good. That's how it works. One favor and for the rest of your life, you're her minion. A dog on a short leash."

Rowle was still smiling.

"She's right," said Rowle. "You _would_ be my minion." She turned to face Harper again.

"But my family, we're generous with our favors, and I don't want weak allies. Or unhappy ones. A career in politics is yours, if you want it. And if you haven't thought that far yet, we can give you options. Tutors during the summer, access to books and—"

"I have tutors." said Harper, "we're not poor."

A missed note in the conversation, out of tune. Rowle wasn't perfect, she made a mistake.

"But you're not _connected._" Rowle pushed on, "we know _better_ tutors."

Mallory almost relaxed. It was too soon after Harper was forced to tell the whole of Slytherin how his mum was a traitor. He was _smarting_, and she went and attacked his family's ability to provide for him.

"That's not—" Harper broke off. "can we shelve this for later? I'm not saying that I'm not interested—"

"Maybe, but we need to get back to the clearing now." said Rowle, arms folded across her chest again. "If they're hunting her, I don't want to get caught up in it."

"Go on, then." Mallory said, a nudge. Hopefully she'd be too distracted to argue.

"I—" Harper looked between Mallory and Rowle. "We need to talk without her here, but with her in _sight._" He was talking to Rowle, not Mallory.

Rowle's brow furrowed. "_Why?_"

"Because—" a branch cracked behind them, and they all froze. Silence.

"Who's there?" Rowle raised her voice, wand pointing into the black.

Nothing.

A moment passed before they lowered their wands.

"Look," said Harper, "it's _important._" He stressed the word like it was supposed to mean something to Rowle, but whatever it was, she wasn't biting.

Rowle shook her head, "we can talk on the way back to the clearing. We're wasting time, here."

"She needs to come with us." he said.

Mallory felt dread crawling down her spine.

Something wasn't making sense. The sequence of events that lead up to this point didn't add up in a way that felt natural.

An initiation in the woods, one that took place every year for many years in a row. If the teachers knew about it, they wouldn't allow it. Hazing rituals were the sort of thing that could go too far and result in lawsuits. That was why there was a lookout stationed to watch out for professors.

But—

"Why are you pushing this so hard?" said Rowle, fists curled tight at her sides.

"Because there aren't any professors coming." said Mallory, face numb. "It's a trap."

Harper whipped around, eyes wide with shock.

Mallory pointed her wand at Harper. "Someone ordered you to take me to the clearing."

Snape had been a Slytherin. If some Professor noticed a Slytherin student was missing from the Hospital Wing, they'd go to Snape. And Snape would tell them to go back to bed, everything was handled. He wouldn't do anything to stop a thousand-year old tradition.

"No," Harper gaped. "that's not— _I'm_ not— but see?" he turned back to Rowle.

Rowle practically _hissed._ "What are you _talking_ about?"

"Even she thinks it!" Harper squeaked. "that we're behind it, but we're not!"

Rowle's wand was switching between Harper and Mallory, face twisted in confusion.

"Why do you want to bring me to the clearing?" Mallory asked, force behind her words.

"Just listen and stop—" he took a breath, "someone pulled the alarm, but there's no one coming. Darla, you said earlier that the upper years weren't plotting anything, but what if they were, and what if this is it?"

Rowle's wand settled on Mallory. "You think they're plotting to get rid of the mudblood?" The look of excitement in her eyes was painful to behold.

"And they're going to pin it on us." said Harper.

"What?" Rowle squeaked. "No they're _not._"

Mallory reeled. Up until this point, she assumed that the upper year Slytherins didn't care about Mallory's blood. But maybe they were being subtle, allowing the younger years to take the blame.

And who better to pin it on than the students who already viciously attacked Mallory? The teachers would be so busy feeling guilty that they didn't do more, they'd miss the real culprits.

It made _sense._

Fuck, she needed time to think. _What actions can she take, what's the safest strategy?_ Was Harper twisting the truth, and if he was, why? She couldn't think up any ready answers, wasn't sure what to do.

"They are." Harper took a step forward. "Because they hate us. Because we spent all day beating the spit out of her and it's an easy sell."

Rowle shifted her chin up, so she was looking down her nose at him. "No one's ever going to believe two first years—"

"But they'll _suspect,_ even if your dad does what he does, there'll always be that one person who says we false-memory charmed ourselves."

Rowle rolled her eyes. "We can't cast false-memory charms."

"No, but the seventh years can. The professors might think we asked them to false-memory charm us, and then they memory-charmed themselves to forget they charmed us."

Rowle opened her mouth to argue, and then shut it. Then opened it again, "but if the professors think we're out here to hurt her, and we're found with her alive..."

"Then they can't do anything, exactly!"

"No," Rowle shook her head, "it'll make it easier for the plotters, with us all in one place. If the Professors find us with her, they'll think we were planning on getting rid of her. But they might not be the ones who get to us first. If the seventh years find us, they'll hex her and false-memory charm us into believing _we_ did it."

Mallory rubbed the bridge of her nose with her free hand. Too much, too many pieces of information to fit into the puzzle. And she couldn't make them stop or slow down to explain because that'd make her look weak.

"If we leave," said Harper, "they'll do something to her and it'll come back on us."

"It sounds to me," Rowle's eyes were narrowed in thought, "that if something happens to the mudblood, they'll make it look like we did it, no matter what. Even if we get to the common room without being false-memory charmed, they'd find us in our rooms and do it then."

Harper slumped in despair, then straighted. "But if we get _her_ to the common room before—"

"Then they'd try again tomorrow." said Rowle. "Or the next day, or the day after that."

"I—"

"But if we leave her here now, then they might pick someone else to be their scapegoat, go for whomever's nearby." Her eyes locked with Mallory's. "In the end it doesn't matter who did it, so long as she's gone."

Something, something here still didn't make sense.

The sound of snapping twigs and cracking wood send Mallory spinning around.

"That's happened more than once." Mallory said, voice tight.

"Four times," observed Rowle. "Twice since we stopped." Her tone was breathy, just this side of afraid.

Someone was stalking them. Mallory took a step to the right, putting Harper and Rowle in her peripheral vision. If they turned their wands on her, she'd see it.

Limit the number of unknowns.

But how could a _specific_ someone lure her away from the clearing? The thought came unbidden as she stared into the pitch black forest.

A plan to hex Mallory in the woods, to let her freeze to death overnight or leave Hogwarts too injured to stay, that required _control._

No one picked which seventh year Mallory chose to follow. But someone might've followed _Mallory._ The stalker.

Still, a risky plan. Too risky, when they could've pulled Mallory aside at any point on the walk to the clearing. Or yanked her back into the woods while everyone was distracted with the punishment game. This was messy, uncoordinated.

Mallory turned around, looking to make sure the stalker wasn't sneaking up behind them.

Nothing.

"We need to get out of here," whispered Harper.

Rowle nodded.

It would be too much to expect them to stick their necks out for her. And Mallory didn't like her chances alone.

"The second you leave," Mallory muttered, "they're going to strike."

Rowle glanced over at her, "it was nice knowing you, Hopkins." It was sickening how the girl made something so trite sound sincere. Like she meant it.

Mallory smiled at Rowle, "they don't need to false-memory charm you. You're making yourselves look like the bad guys right now, leaving me here when you know I'm going to be attacked."

Catch-22 situation. If they stayed, they'd be attacked by the stalker, too. If they left, they were making themselves complicit.

Harper shook his head, "no, they'll erase this conversation. Memory charms. We won't know any of this even happened."

Harper and Rowle inched out of the clearing, wands trained on Mallory. And there was nothing she could do about it.

They vanished into the dark.

It was different from how the seventh year vanished. He'd been there one moment and gone the next. The two first years bled into the dark slowly, bushes and twigs rustling as they passed.

Mallory whipped her wand around, eyes narrowed. It was where she would strike, from behind.

Nothing.

It would really be funny if all the fuss was over some deer or rabbit.

A small part of her noted that she wasn't nearly as afraid as she ought to be, given the situation. It was like how during the Initiation, Mallory felt nothing when Rowle was getting torn a new one by the seventh year prefects.

She was _off_ somehow, since that supersensory charm. Like she got torn apart and put back together wrong.

Terror was the appropriate response. Someone was planning on hurting her badly, maybe even killing her. But every nudge she sent at her brain came back dull, a sluggish thread of fear where it should be a roaring pipe-explosion of visceral terror.

Eyes fixed on the edges of the clearing, Mallory thought.

The stalker had followed them from the Initiation Circle to this clearing, intent on hurting Mallory, maybe. Why hadn't they attacked yet?

If it was a seventh year, they had nothing to fear from Mallory's spells. They knew this, and she knew this. So why hesitate?

Moreover, they were silent. Which meant they weren't moving. Every stupid step in this forest generated noise. The crunch of leaves under feet, a rustle of branches.

It was utterly silent.

Now that she took note of it, the silence seemed _wrong_. Hadn't noticed before, too preoccupied with Rowle and Harper. But outside there were always noises. The rustle of small animals scurrying through the underbrush, the hoot of an owl and the whistle of wind through branches.

The wind didn't move, leaves didn't rustle.

Menacing, if asked for a word to describe the forest. The mist curling at her ankles, thick gnarled branches became threatening shapes in the gloom. Moonlight filtering through the leaves, all wild and without a human's touch.

The trunks looked gray, a likely side-effect of dim lighting. Low bushes and scraggly brambles hugged the ground. Up above, vines and moss hung off drooping branches.

But above all else, the silence was what contributed most to the atmosphere.

Every muscle in Mallory's body tensed, heartbeat speeding up. Ah, there was the fear. Not broken, after all.

She kept turning around, eyes peering into the blackness.

It would be like this until sunrise, maybe a bit later since the light would take time to rise over the treeline and shine on Mallory's little clearing.

Staying here wasn't smart. Rowle and Harper might lead the plotters back here with their _really good memories._ However, her prey instinct kept her paralyzed, standing in her small patch of moonlight.

The sensible part of her brain argued: staying in the light felt safe, but it made her a beacon, a target. If she wanted to hide from whomever was hunting her, slipping into the blackness would make it hard for them to find her.

A more sensible part of her brain argued that she was dealing with _wizards_, not average humans. Supersensory charms and their ilk existed. Just because she couldn't see or hear her enemy approaching didn't mean they couldn't sense her.

Mallory whipped around again, trying to be random about it. The muscles along her neck and shoulders started to feel the strain.

But that wasn't all she was worried about. By the fire, her damp hospital gown hadn't been an issue. Now, though, she was shivering. The sweat she generated while running was cooling her skin. Her feet, buried in mud, were so cold they _ached,_ and her hands weren't fairing any better.

The cold pierced her head and ears, tips burning.

While it wasn't below freezing, she was only wearing a sodden hospital gown.

She didn't know how cold it needed to be for someone to freeze to death. Didn't know how fast it could set in, nor if the fire-making charm would work on damp wood.

What if the stalker left, and she was wasting her time?

Maybe they heard Harper and Mallory figuring out their plan, and decided if first years caught on, then adults would, too. Or maybe they heard Rowle's speech about how powerful her daddy was, and thought better of it.

But— it would be stupid to assume that her enemy ran away, if she wasn't sure. It seemed like the best thing to do was to act as though her stalker was the cleverest amongst the seventh years, that they were here and waiting—

But _why?_

Why haven't they attacked yet?

Maybe they went after Rowle and Harper first, modifying their memories. And were coming back for Mallory.

But that didn't make sense, either. Mallory could run off in the time it took to grab the two and cast spells on them.

Unless there were more than one stalker.

A conspiracy, a group of students acting with coordination. One followed Harper and Rowle, another stayed behind to keep an eye on Mallory.

_But why haven't they attacked yet?_

Maybe they fucked up. Someone chickened out or— _don't assume your enemies are doing convenient things, like making mistakes._ Danny used to tell her that, and the part of her mind that chided her sounded a lot like him.

_Then why haven't they attacked yet?_ What were they waiting for?

Mallory scowled angrily into the forest. It wasn't cunning to assume her enemies never made mistakes, either. But guessing what people were thinking was Danny's department, not her's. She was just— half-remembering the things he told her, trying to apply those bits and pieces to her own problems.

It didn't help that she was facing an invisible enemy. No expressions to read or words to analyze.

But that in itself was a clue. Who would go after Mallory Hopkins, what sort of person or persons cared enough to hunt her down and stalk her through the woods.

What did she know?

That Slytherin as a whole didn't want her in their House. They thought her presence cheapened their House's name.

Mallory spun about again, flexing her wand hand. It was getting a cramp.

Even worse, Mallory was an outsider. Not a real part of their culture and at the bottom of their hierarchy. With only a single day to observe, there wasn't enough time to get a grip on the structure.

But there were some things that ought to carry through from one culture to the other.

Reputation.

It was why Mallory was having such a hard time sussing out Rowle's motivations, or her Stalker's.

Rowle's actions today, and Harper's, they carried with them _weight._ Like Harper said, people might think you weren't at fault, but they'll always wonder in the back of their minds.

And professors, they don't like bullies. Maybe Snape was a glaring exception, favoring purebloods above reason, but the rest of the professors wouldn't trust Harper or Rowle. They lost valuable currency, attacking Mallory in front of a teacher.

It might've sent a message: _look, we can attack and get away with it,_ but with that action, Harper and Rowle lost a lot of goodwill. Rowle used that good-girl imagine too often make such a gigantic mistake.

A little girl who pouted, wore her hair in ringlets, knew just the right tone to use to get every adult wrapped around her finger. That girl didn't twist herself into _that shape_ just to muck it up on the first day by dueling.

Mallory's breath formed a cloud in the air on every exhale, as the adrenaline was slowly slipping away. Freezing water dripped off branches and slid down her cheek. She shivered.

Her feet were numb, the hospital shift sticking to her skin and heavy with moisture.

Still, no movement.

And yet, she didn't take her eyes off the black spaces between trees.

Rowle's act was just that, an act, a good act, and Mallory was intimately familiar with a version of it.

Back in South Brent, she and Danny were masters at leveraging the currency of teachers' approval. Or more accurately, Danny was. Mallory could never quite pull it off, wore her disdain for authority like a badge, and it showed.

Danny had no such compunctions, wore neat khakis and tucked his shirt in, looked proper and _respectable._ Showed just the right among of deference to the teachers, interjecting it with earnestness. Sometimes he even stayed behind with the teacher during recess, babbling about how excited he was for the lessons.

What the teachers _didn't_ realize was that his excitement was a distraction so Mallory could slip into someplace she ought not be, creating mischief.

He quite enjoyed playing the role. And their double-act let them get away with near bloody murder.

Rowle was like a cheap, knock-off version of Danny. But even she should realize that giving yourself a reputation for beating up other students wasn't _on_. Not if you wanted to maintain your role.

Crackling branches snapped Mallory back to herself, and she raised her wand a tad. Getting tired, letting her arm droop and her mind wander.

"We're going in circles." It was Rowle's voice, and getting closer.

"What?" said Harper, "no we're not."

"We are. Don't you recognize this tree?"

"Maybe?" I wasn't looking closely at them."

"I thought you said you took memory potion, you liar."

"I do, but I wasn't paying attention to the stupid trees!"

Mallory aimed her wand towards where she guessed they'd come through, but flicked her eyes behind her a couple times. Wouldn't be good to be caught off-guard.

Rowle and Harper stumbled into the clearing a second time that night, and startled in surprise.

"You lead them here." Mallory accused, eyes bright and _furious_. Waiting to see if there was a change in their expression, some kind of confirmation.

"No I—" "What?"

Nothing.

Mallory lowered her wand and shook her head. "I don't get it."

What were they doing back here, if not to turn her over to the seventh years? Unless they'd been bespelled to forget about their earlier conversation.

"You remember our talk earlier?" she asked, voice low. "What was the last thing I said to you?"

Rowle tilted her head, "you said we were leaving you here to die."

That sounded about right. Couldn't remember her exact words, but—

"And before that?" Mallory asked, just in case.

The blonde girl's lips curved into an amused smile. "Do I need to give you back your exact words?"

Mallory shrugged with one arm, teeth chattering. "it'd help."

Harper rolled his eyes and stepped forward. "You guessed the professors weren't coming. We argued about whether or not you ought to come with us." he glanced at Rowle, "memory charms and false-memory charms, using money, and—"

"Alright," Rowle's voice was forceful. "I get it. Are you satisfied our memories haven't been tampered with, now?"

Mallory shrugged again, too fucking tired to try and poke holes into their proof that they hadn't been memory charmed.

She wanted to put her head down. Rest. She settled for sitting on her heels, crouched above the mud.

"You didn't go back to the clearing." They were probably here to hex her. Or brought someone with them. Maybe she was too tired to read faces right, or it was too dark to see properly.

Rowle moved further into the little clearing, shaking her head. "I'm sure I remembered it right."

"Me too," said Harper. "We both—"

"Take memory potions?" Mallory said, a tad too slow to remember that she ought to pretend she didn't overhear them. Fuck. It was becoming a pattern. A step too slow. Felt like she was stumbling, scrabbling to keep up with her stupid mouth.

She stood up and raised her hands. Peace. "I don't care, alright? I'm tired. It's—" she ran a hand through her hair, attempting to brush the loose strands from her face. Smeared mud across her forehead and hair, instead.

"No," Harper shook his head. "I'm not letting you hold that over our—"

Rowle spoke up over him, "that's not important right now. We both were following our memories but we ended up _here._"

Harper turned to face Rowle. "You think someone lured us here."

"I think there's something wrong," Rowle's face scrunched in concentration. "Maybe someone _did_ memory charm us when we got to the clearing, and then left us here."

There was silence for a moment, and Mallory's brain skipped and stuttered before finally dredging up a useful comment.

"Why'd they do that, though?" she frowned. "This whole time, we've been waiting for someone to pop out of the bushes. Maybe they want us all to freeze to death, make it look like an accident?"

"Warming charms." answered Harper.

Fuck, _of course there was._ Forgot. Didn't know how to cast it, anyway. The fire-charm might work on damp wood, and she was freezing enough to try it, even though it might draw the attention of whomever or _whatever_ was stalking her.

"I don't—" Rowle spoke up, hesitant. "I think we're missing something."

Mallory glanced over at Rowle, "the silence?"

"It's too quiet." she nodded.

"I think," Mallory's tone careful and level, "we're the only ones left out here."

It didn't make sense for a seventh year to wait this long to hex them. Even if there were magical forensics, an attacker could always hit them in the back of the head with a rock.

Then again, she knew very little about what magic could do. Maybe the magic police could tell it was Professor Plum that did it with the candlestick in the library, and not Colonel Mustard.

Fuck. If she hadn't lost that stupid seventh year, she'd be back in her dorm right now in bed.

"Yeah," Harper's voice was contemplative. "I don't think anyone would stay out here this long unless they had a really good reason."

"A magical creature," said Rowle, then shook her head. "But they don't leave the Forbidden Forest. They're _bound_ there."

Harper's voice dropped. "It might be someone _pretending_ to be a creature."

"Do either of you," Rowle asked, "feel an impending sense of despair or hopelessness?"

"No?" Mallory's brow furrowed.

Harper shook his head. "Dementors are owned by the ministry, and besides, you wouldn't find one in this part of the forest."

"Are you fucking with me, now? What's a dementor?" She was too tired, muscles aching and head pounding, to deal with this.

"It's a creature," Harper answered, "a magical creature. It makes you feel despair and everything goes cold when it's near."

Mallory glanced around, the freezing water on her feet, hairs on end and violently shivering. Rowle thought a creature was behind this, too. Mallory tucked her hands in her armpits, conserving heat.

The cold, the silence. They were lost and didn't know where to go for help. She could get how someone would feel _hopeless_ in this situation.

"What counts as _despairing_, exactly?" Mallory asked.

"If you have to ask, you aren't feeling it." said Harper, voice dry.

Mallory shrugged. It felt unnatural, having an almost-civil conversation with the two of them.

Another drop of freezing water landed on her cheek, and Mallory brushed it off with the clean part of her hand. Just water.

It felt like it ought to be blood, or something more sinister. Like this was a horror movie and she was about to find out that the bog monster was leering down at them from above their clearing. _Surprise!_

She glanced up, just in case. Nothing.

Rowle was prowling the edge of the clearing, face twisted in a frown. Harper lit his wand, brightening the area substantially.

But that feeling, the sort of feeling she got when watching a scary movie, tension and _anticipation,_ knowing something bad was going to happen at any second—

Her mind was drawing a connection. Because in those movies, a silent forest always meant something _scared all the other critters away._

"Anyone really creeped out right now?" Mallory asked. "Like, we've been transported on-set to a horror movie?"

"What?" said Harper, who's eyes were on Rowle's slow, methodical pacing.

"Nevermind. It's like— I feel like I'm being _watched._"

Harper's eyes snapped to her's. "Us too. The whole time we were walking, it felt like there were eyes on us. I thought it might be a seventh year, but…" he trailed off.

"Yeah," Mallory echoed, "but it doesn't make sense."

Rowle stopped and lit her wand.

"Well, I don't _see_ anything, but," Rowle's eyes narrowed. "I think there's something here."

"Fucking stop with the dramatics. I heard it too, earlier."

There was the sound of branches breaking.

Rowle whipped her wand out, pointing into the black. Harper kept his wand pointed up, turning in a slow circle, searching.

For her part, Mallory's wand never left her hand. Not that she would be much _help._

"Okay." Mallory's voice was soft and controlled. "so how did you guess that would happen a second before it did?"

"I didn't." whispered Rowle. "It's just— there was this moment earlier where I tripped in the woods, and it felt almost like a _gap,_ and I felt it again."

Mallory pointed her wand out. An enemy in the woods wouldn't _know_ Mallory didn't know many spells, necessarily. She slowly circled around, sticking close to Harper.

"I think I know which moment you're talking about." Mallory said, "What do you think it was?" _He was there one moment and gone the next._ An odd lurch, then, like a tiny moment of disorientation.

"I think we were _moved._ I think something's here, and—"

There was a wet sound, like stones on something _slick_ and Mallory turned—

"Oh my god, Jesus _Fuck_" "—Darla?! Merlin— oh—"

"Move!" Mallory grabbed Harper's hand and shoved him back, wand pointed at the _thing._

It wasn't Darla. It couldn't be Darla. There wasn't enough time to do that to her. It was like something had—

_Gorged_ her. Standing up straight with twigs and stones woven through her like some twisted exoskeleton, keeping Rowle's corpse upright. Her torso had been reduced to _meat._

_Fuck._

Her _wand_ was still in her hand, arm extended outward, supported by a lattice of twigs and thin branches— but—

Half her face was _gone._ Her _eye_— they'd shoved stones under her skin until they'd burst out—

Mallory gagged.

The lattice, the network of stones and branches that held up the— the thing— were turning red as blood trickled between—

_Jesus._

"How— how, what—" Mallory choked. _What does that?_

Her mind caught up. It was still _here._

"We have to run." she said, backing up further and _tugging_ on Harper's arm.

"I can't— I can't—" said Harper, high pitched and _broken_. His wand was shaking so hard in his hand she couldn't—

"RUN!" she screamed into his ear, pulling him hard. She _moved,_ Harper a step behind her, stumbling and stuttering in shock.

Racing through the woods now, heedless of scratching branches and brambles.

"I can't," he sobbed, "I can't—Oh _Merlin_, we're going to— she's—"

Mallory hurled herself over the bushes, jumping and twisting in midair, barely avoiding a low-hanging branch.

"Think!" she gasped out, legs pumping under her. "I need you," another breath, "to think!"

Hard to focus on _thinking_ when barreling through the woods, ducking under vines and tearing through brambles.

"I can't— I—"

"You have to! Come on, you know about—"

"It killed her!" His voice was high and tremulous. He dug his heels into the ground and they stopped, wand light flickering in the dark.

"We need to _go_ what are you—"

"There's no point!" The words burst out of his mouth, a shriek. His eyes were wild and unseeing. "It's going to kill us, it's going to— there's _nothing_ we can—"

"What is it?" Mallory had one hand gripping Harper's arm. The other gripped her wand, pointed out into the night, _useless._ Her heart was beating out her chest and she was shaking. _She couldn't get that image out of her head._

"I don't— I don't—" the kid was crying, sobbing, shaking so badly it was hard to hold onto him.

"We need to know what it is." She demanded, squeezing his arm. Her legs were jittering and her eyes prickled with tears. _Fuck, what was the bloody point in being strong. It didn't matter, they'd die anyway—_ Shut up. Shut _up._

"I—" he sniffed, "I can't thi—"

"There's no _time_," she hissed. Any second now, it'd catch up. Broke it's holding pattern and _attacked,_ why then?

"Holly." he croaked, "Holly stops— some— some creatures. Running water. The patronus charm. I don't—"

"Okay," she said, "that's good. Keep working. It's a predator, yeah?"

"I—" his breaths were slowing down, he swallowed. "Predator."

"Good, yeah, a predator." Mallory said, "something that hunts, hunts in the dark."

She didn't wipe her cheeks, speaking slowly because if she spoke any faster he'd hear the hitch in her voice. Had to stay calm. If both of them panicked—

"Gy— gyrtrash. Only moves in the dark. Horse."

"It's a gyrtrash?"

He crumpled to the ground, head buried in his hands.

"No, come on, look up. It attacked when we weren't looking, _look at me!_" The last part came out as a desperate shriek.

He did, eyes so wide the whites were showing. Face damp with sweat, snot dribbling out his nose and shaking, he looked as scared as Mallory thought a person could get.

"We need to keep each other in sight." voice still calm, panic bubbling under the surface. "It attacked when we weren't looking at her."

He nodded, shaking. "You think—"

"Come on," she grabbed his hand. "we need to move. I don't know how fast it is, or what it can do."

He stood up, arms still shaking visibly, the light from his wand jiggling around.

"Keep me in _sight._" she said, keeping one eye on him, herself. Couldn't hack this alone.

"What's the spell you're using to light you're wand?" She couldn't rely on him to keep it lit. He was falling to pieces, and if it got him next, she'd be _blind._

The boy started giggling, high-pitched and off-key.

She tugged. "The incantation and wand movement! Now!"

"Lumos, lumos, just— lumos."

She lit her wand with a jab, staring at the giggling, half-mad boy that was her only fucking tool in this— _fuck,_ there was no point. They weren't going to see dawn.

They broke out into a jog, not picking any direction, just _away._

They were fucked.

After she didn't show up all day for any classes, someone might send out a search party. Colin, Felix, and Kit would definitely notice she was gone, and tell a teacher.

By then it'd be too late.

"Think while we walk," she reminded Harper, squeezing his hand painfully. Had to get a _reaction_ from him that wasn't panic or crying.

"I don't—" he was panting, "a gyrtrash can't—"

"It's a horse." she said, guessing what he meant. It couldn't do _that_ to Rowle.

He wheezed out air, a half-sob, "I don't know what could _do that._"

"That's okay. We're going to figure it out." she didn't believe herself. She didn't believe they'd live until morning.

"Darla said— she said—" Harper stumbled over a log and she tugged him hard, racing forward.

And straight back into the clearing, with Darla's mutilated corpse.

They were right back where they started.

Mallory felt all the blood drain from her limbs, mouth open.

Harper let out a keening noise. "Merlin, Merlin, it—"

"Lured us here." Mallory muttered, eyes wide. "We never got away."

* * *

I wonder, did Voldemort copy the Death Eaters' hooded cloaks and secret ceremonies from Slytherin's Initation Night, or are the students playing at being Death Eaters?

-Thank you to the people I've hounded this past week to read this chapter/check it for errors. It is much appreciated.

-Hooded Figures are a Night Vale reference.


	8. The Slytherin Initiation Part 7

_A predator that strikes in the dark, always just out of sight._

Harper collapsed in the mud by her feet. He was hugging himself, gibbering. Mallory flicked her eyes between him and the _thing_, Darla Rowle's corpse. Her brain wasn't fast enough. She couldn't think, couldn't come up with a plan— it was happening all at once.

Rain was falling in earnest, now. Fat drops tracing their way down her face and neck. The wide tree leaves collected the rain. And when the weight of water became too heavy, they crumpled, unleashing their load of freezing water in spats.

The ground was oversaturated, the rainwater settling in puddles. There was enough water that individual pools were merging together, sharing the same fluids. Mallory was standing in Rowle's diluted blood. Harper was kneeling in it.

She took two steps to the side before throwing up, bile burning her throat on the way. Wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing grit. She wiped that hand on the back of her gown. Fuck, she needed to focus.

The ground back at the Initiation Circle had been dry. Then she followed the seventh year deep into the woods and the ground became _slippery._

Or maybe that was just a coincidence. The trees were thicker the further you went into the forest. Less chance for sunlight to reach the floor, drying the ground.

She wasn't even sure her rule about always keeping eyes on each other was _real._ Her brain was trying to find patterns of behavior, habits and vulnerabilities she could exploit, while simultaneously trying not to panic and guide Harper.

It wasn't working. She couldn't do it.

Always thought that in a crisis, time would slow and she'd be able to do the impossible. That's what having magic _meant_. Being able to produce miracles, be the hero, escape any bind.

A choked noise forced its way past her throat. Little gasps and shuddering breaths. She couldn't cry, now. One of them had to be useful, one of them had to think.

_They weren't going to make it out of here alive._

The killer was toying with them, letting them think they were getting away, only to rip the rug out from under them.

Harper was sitting in the bloody water, staring at his feet.

"Harper!" she snapped, "keep your eyes on me, Harper."

He did.

Another drop of freezing water landed on her cheek. Running warmed her, but she was standing still, again. Sweat and dampness were rapidly cooling her down, and the cold was _worse_ than it was before.

She didn't know much about freezing to death, but once you were so cold you stopped shivering, that was really bad.

She was _that cold._

There was some television show she vaguely recalled, something about an arctic adventurer who survived a winter storm. He said how once you got hypo- something, your brain gets fuzzy. Gets hard to think, and you stop caring about getting up and moving.

She didn't know. Had no idea whether or not she could freeze to death if it was above freezing out. It seemed like you wouldn't, because the body was made of a lot of water, right? Water froze when it was freezing out.

Yet Harper thought it was an option, earlier. He said she might freeze to death. He might've been him using that example for effect, but—

She couldn't be sure. And she felt _very_ cold.

Which meant she had a time limit on how long she could think. Even _if_ they managed to outsmart _Darla Rowle's murderer,_ they'd have to make their way back to the castle.

Fuck, the cold must be fucking with her head. She was being stupid.

_"Incendio"_, she pointed at some damp twigs. They lit. Mallory and Harper didn't need to find the castle. They needed Hogwarts castle to come to _them_. It didn't make sense to keep running. The killer would just pop them back to this clearing. Better to stay put and conserve their strength.

Better to stay put and make a _really big fire_. Someone would notice a fire, and come running. 'Course the creature, person, whatever it was, wouldn't want them to call for help if they were plotting to kill them. She might be pushing it to act faster, kill them faster.

But Rowle's murderer would kill them for sure if they did nothing.

"_Incendio!_" She pointed at a big tree, and then at another on the opposite side of the clearing. "_Incendio!_"

Flames crackled and wood popped, thick guttering smoke spluttering into the night. Two big trees on fire, one behind them and one in front of them. But the fire was having a hard time staying _lit._ The twigs at her feet were already out, courtesy of the rain.

Harper was still staring at her, bug-eyed and trembling. Whether from the cold or from terror, she didn't know.

She lit up another tree, and sent more fire to the trees already burning.

Smoke joined the heavy scent of blood and viscera. Mallory coughed.

"Are you going to help?" her voice was shaking. Too much adrenaline, heart thumping a mile a minute and vision tunneling.

He shook his head, eyes red from crying. "I— this isn't— isn't real."

"I know." she croaked. "I don't want to be here, either. But we can't just _give up._"

He shook his head harder. "Not real. Ill— illusion. Can't be dead."

She hadn't considered that. The possibility didn't even cross her mind, because she didn't know that was an option.

"We don't know that." She whispered, fighting against the part of her that desperately wanted to believe it was true. That there was nothing to fear. That it was a hallucination. Because if it was, she could _stop fighting._ And she wanted to stop. Wanted to cry and scream, wanted this not to be real.

Instead, she lit another tree on fire. A circle of waning flames, reflections shimmering in the puddles.

"C-cant be dead." Harper shook.

Rowle's corpse sparkled, blood and rainwater made reflective in the light. The gorge rose in her throat and she looked away. Swallowed hard, sour taste of bile in her mouth.

"So, it's smart." her voice was shaking. "And it doesn't want to be seen."

"It can't be—"

"Shut up! _Listen,_ It's a predator, and it's playing with us, guiding us in circles, it's—"

"If this— If this is real we'll d— die here."

That's not _helpful._ "Think, think— why the game? Why drag us around in circles? It killed Rowle but let us stand around for god-knows-how-long—"

"This isn't— I can't—" Useless. Not _contributing._

"I need you to keep your eyes on me, come on." Fuck, she was crying. Hands shaking too hard to hide it.

"We're going to die—"

"I know!" she screamed. And took a breath. If they both panicked—

"I know." Mallory repeated, keeping her eyes on Harper, the rest of the clearing in the periphery. Two trees weren't on fire anymore.

"_Incendio!_" It caught fire, but the rain was making it difficult. She'd need Harper to cast, too, if they wanted all the trees to stay lit.

She knelt down next to him, mud sucking at her knees. Freezing water rushed into the sinking sludge, chilling her legs. So numb they _burned._

"If we don't try," she croaked, "then we'll— for _sure_."

_It thrived on fear,_ she thought.

Cause and effect. They get shaken up, scared, blood pumping. A monster or person that fed off of fear, one that was smart and capable of _magic._

Harper was shaking his head.

"I need you to help keep the fires lit." Mallory spoke, swallowing. "You can do that, right?"

He nodded, shaking, and Mallory pulled the boy to his feet.

"_Incendio._" He choked out, and nothing happened. He let out a croaking sound.

"It's alright," Mallory said, trying her best to sound comforting. "Try again."

"_Incendio!_" The tree caught fire.

"Okay, good." She nodded, more to herself than to him. "We need to figure out—"

"I can't hear anything over the fire." He muttered. "The cracking."

But they were warming up, and there was light flooding the clearing. She coughed again, the smoke irritating her throat.

He was looking around, as though he might spot it.

"Don't!" she said, drawing another connection. He looked at her.

"Rowle— she said she _saw_ something. Maybe it doesn't want us to see it."

At least he'd stopped crying and stuttering about how they were going to die. He hugged his arms to himself. "I don't know what it is."

"Okay, but you've read lots of books, yeah?" Mallory spoke, thinking. "You said you used a potion, to make yourself remember better."

"Memory potions."

"Right, so if we think outloud, you might remember something you read somewhere, something half-forgotten."

He shrugged with one arm, shifting from one leg to the other. He was decidedly keeping his eyes in the circle.

"Rowle said something," his voice shook, "about a— a gap. In her—" The boy was blinking back tears.

A gap in memory. In perception. Fuck, thank you Rowle. Limit the number of possible suspects. Who or what can trick them into going in circles?

"Any monster that can mess with time?"

He shook his head rapidly, water flicking off in a spray.

"Fear, things that feed off of it. Something that—"

"No." he croaked.

"Okay," Mallory said, nodding. They weren't dealing with a monster, they were dealing with a person. Someone could've hit them with that paralysis spell, spent a couple hours doing _that_ to Rowle. Then erased their memories to make it look like it happened in an instant.

Rowle must've figured it out.

And it responded by _butchering_ her.

"It's a wizard," said Harper.

_Fuck._ She didn't want him saying that out loud. If the murderer was nearby, then they could _hear_ her.

Mallory shook her head, a bit frantic. "No it's not. It's a monster, a clever monster."

Rowle didn't catch a glimpse of a monster, she caught a glimpse of a person. Someone who wanted to hide their identity. But why respond with _grotesque murder_ instead of slitting her throat, or any number of less horrible ways to kill someone? This was a message.

Harper squeaked, "they used a wizard magic. That's how they're— there aren't any magical creatures that can _do_ this!"

Double fuck.

Mallory squeezed Harper's arm as tight as she could.

"Stop," he swallowed, "you're _hurting_ me."

_That's right I'm hurting you, you stupid buttmuncher._ He wasn't getting the message. Too scared to _think_ straight.

The third tree was still on fire, but it was getting weak.

No point in pretending any longer. "So it's a person," she said, and squeezed his arm again. "Someone who can hear every word we're saying."

She felt more than saw Harper go stiff at that. But now she was addressing their stalker.

"You can hear every word we're saying." She projected a bit, voice scratchy and shaking. Couldn't help it.

"What are you _doing?_" hissed Harper.

Tried to remember what they said outloud since they arrived. Mentioned that the professors weren't coming, so their stalker knew that they knew no professors were coming. She couldn't use their arrival as a threat, but there was another tactic she could employ.

"We figured it out." Her voice was a little softer, a little steadier. "Two first years figured it out, yeah? So— so the professors will, too."

She cast another _incendio,_ relighting a fire that had fizzled out.

She didn't know why Rowle's killer was hesitating. If they were a wizard, they could've killed Mallory and Harper twenty times over in the last minute. A good _diffindo_ across the throat would do it. They weren't waiting because they feared what two first years could do to them.

Which was why she'd leaned towards _monster_ over _human_, once Rowle was murdered. Some part of her brain felt the dissonance. If you wanted to implicate _a first year_ for murder, you cut Rowle's neck with a _diffindo_ or burned her to death with an _incendio_, first year spells they were capable of producing.

Which meant the killer had some other goal, an insane psychopath who got their jollies off terrifying and butchering kids.

The choice to _terrorize_ them and the ritualistic butchering. Those were clues, the sorts of clues Danny would be able to use to build a picture of the murderer.

Mallory, alone, couldn't connect the dots fast enough.

In spite of that, she was _desperately_ glad he wasn't here. Harper and Mallory wouldn't survive the night, but at least Danny would—

A hitch in her throat.

It was then she realized she picked a losing argument. He or she already killed. If Mallory had figured it out earlier, before the person killed Rowle— _fuck,_ the killer had nothing to lose.

Harper spoke, "you have to let us go." His voice cracked in the middle of the sentence.

Mallory didn't know much about psychopaths, only what she saw on the telly. And mum said most of those shows were dramatizations. The telly wasn't always truthful.

The facts. What did she know?

The killer was someone who took pleasure in fear and enjoyed the _hunt_.

"Because," Mallory continued, before Harper could start talking and fuck something up. "who's going to spread the word? Three students go missing in the woods, their corpses found by professors. There's no story, no narrative."

Bloody bodies mutilated with sticks and stones got peoples' _attention._ This killer wanted a spectacle.

Harper caught on. "You're—" he swallowed, "you're really scary. Three dead, if we're all dead, no one will know how—" a choked exhale, "—how scary you are, they'll— because we're young they'll want to imagine it wasn't so terrible—"

Harper might be brilliant, she thought, once he stopped panicking and started using his head. This was the argument they needed, and he'd caught on.

Mallory spoke. "People always imagine children are safe. If something happens to one, it's awful. But kids _suffering_ a lot? They'll tell themselves we didn't feel anything. I don't know, but us coming back and telling this story, how we had to watch our yearmate die. You want fear, right? Terror, panic, people quakin' in their boots. That's how to do it. But we have to be alive to tell your story."

Of course, the murderer might kill Mallory regardless of what she said. Whomever sicced this mad dog on them, they might've given specific instructions. Kill Mallory for being a muggleborn. Leave Harper behind to tell the story, about how going against the Hooded Figures meant death.

But there was always a chance, a small chance that this murder was motivated by something other than blood.

She might be deluding herself. Wishful thinking, trying to make up excuses in her head, reasons to keep hoping that she'd make it out of here alive.

"And I'm a good storyteller." choked out Harper. "Really good. I—"

"Better to be more mysterious, though." Mallory talked over him. "Why not spare both of us? Sensible thing to do is leave one messenger, but two alive? It'll confuse them, and that'll scare them _more._"

A burst of flame filled the clearing.

Mallory and Harper _screamed._

The light blinked out and in its place stood Headmaster Dumbledore, with a large and fiery bird perched on his shoulder.

All the air rushed out of Mallory. Shock.

"I have searched far for you this night and—" He stopped when he saw Rowle's corpse. His gaze shifted back to the two of them, eyes practically glowing with rage below his bushy eyebrows.

He met their eyes. A beat.

And his face twisted into grief.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts muttered a word, and there was another flash, this one _consuming_ her.

* * *

She wasn't in the forest anymore.

Beds were lined up in rows, lamps flickering at regular intervals between them. The uneven stone floor beneath her felt warm compared to the freezing mud from the forest.

Her mind was racing, unable to believe what she was seeing. They were in the hospital wing. In Hogwarts.

Safe.

"Poppy," the old man's voice was hoarse, "there's been a terrible accident."

She tuned him out, heart thumping in her chest, arms shaking.

Oh, god, was it really over?

The killer fucked with their perceptions, was— was she being turned into a corpse-sculpture like Rowle, hallucinating safety in her last moments?

She pulled herself into a sitting position, scraping mud, blood, twigs and leaves across the floor.

The stone was smooth, even under the beds. But it had been worn down, grooves where people stepped on it in the spaces inbetween them. Her legs and feet left ugly smears.

_Rowle's arm, straight and held up with sticks, pressed through the arm instead of around it, skewered. Stones shoved under skin until—_

She blinked open her eyes, still on the stone floor of the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey was fussing over Harper, tears on her cheeks. Dumbledore stood in the back, hands clasped and face grim.

Heart still stuttering in her chest, legs jittering and hands shaking.

Was it over?

The nurse touched her arm and she jumped with a strangled yelp.

A potion was shoved into her mouth, and everything fuzzed out into cotton.

More potions were guided down her throat, spells said, and Mallory drifted out of consciousness.

* * *

The bright sun flooding through the window woke her up.

Mallory shifted onto her side and pulled the covers up over her head.

Darla Rowle was dead. That happened last night, or this morning if she wanted to get technical about it. There was no moment where she wondered whether or not it was a dream, no _confusion._

She was in the Hospital Wing. The sheets were white and crisp, and they smelled like antiseptic. Light filtered through the fabric, and she noted that her hands and fingernails had been cleaned. Her skin were scrubbed pink. Magic.

The sensation of air tickling her nostrils, warm sheets, and the hazy outline of her hand clutching the blanket over her head were her only focus. Anything else would be hell. Like, remembering how Darla Rowle died.

Or how scared she had been.

She took a shuddering breath, and re-focused on her breathing. Nope, not thinking about it. Definitely not.

Some time passed, or maybe none at all, and she poked her head out of her cocoon of blankets.

And saw Professor Dumbledore sitting beside her hospital bed. She would've quipped a joke, something about two times in as many days, but—

Darla Rowle was dead.

Didn't speak. He knew she was awake, and she ought to say hello. Words weren't coming.

"You've suffered through an unimaginable ordea—"

"Who was it?" she croaked.

The Headmaster paused, folding his hands on his lap. "A dark, terrible creature."

"You don't know." Her voice was flat, eyes fixed on his own.

He broke contact first.

"Indeed, I do not." He looked out through the window, gaze contemplative. "Nor do I know how you found yourself to be in the Forbidden Forest, when all your compatriots were stationed across the Black Lake."

Mallory said nothing, even though she knew his silence was an invitation for her to explain. Too tired, wrung out, to bother.

She stared at him, mind blank and limbs still. Her brain _crawled_ and for a moment she felt paralyzed.

"I see you do not know this, yourself." The Headmaster of Hogwarts looked down.

"Is Rowle really—" it _hurt_ to ask.

"Yes, I'm afraid she's passed on."

Mallory flinched. Darla Rowle was dead. It wasn't a hallucination, or some kind of hazing ritual.

She said nothing. Her insides felt hollow, like small creatures were whittling holes through her chest. It was persistent, a low buzzing static in the back of her mind that wasn't letting up.

"I wish to commend you." spoke Dumbledore.

Mallory stared at her nails, neatly trimmed and cleaned while she was sleeping. They didn't look like her fingernails, which usually were dirty and chipped from play.

She wondered for a moment, if this was real. Some part of her was back there in the forest, with bloody feet scrabbling for footing and the _cold._ Her feet were warm under the blanket and there wasn't a scratch on her. No aches or pains beyond stiffness.

"I spoke to young Master Harper this morning." He prompted again.

She said nothing. The cogs and wheels in her brain were gummed up, rusted and frozen in place.

"I'm heartened to see that in times of peril, you're able to overlook your quarrels with your housemate."

Her breath caught in her throat. She couldn't look at Dumbledore, didn't want to _think._

"Such an event will not happen again." said the Headmaster of Hogwarts. "There are aurors investigating the murder of your classmate, and the perpetrator will be caught."

"It was someone in Hogwarts." Mallory said, stating the obvious.

Dumbledore frowned. She met his eyes, because she needed to see that he understood.

"I was—" _the one being lead into a trap._ She cleared her throat, "they're after me."

The headmaster gave her a sad look. "I wish— ah, I wish you never experienced something like this, at such an age." He looked down. "I've lost many people, Miss Hopkins, and I know deeply the temptation to blame yourself. You wish to have done more, and think that if you might go back in time, you could avert catastrophe."

That wasn't what she was getting at, but it was one of the feelings she was resolutely not thinking about.

"There was nothing you could've done." the Headmaster said. "Not even the brightest of first years would've walked out of that forest unscathed. If anything, it is my fault, and the fault of the professors as a whole for not realizing the danger."

She wanted to ask more questions, but they hurt to think of, no less ask out loud. Instead she fiddled with the blanket, and let her brain go blank.

* * *

Dumbledore stood up, and Mallory look over to what drew his attention. Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, and two of the oddest figures Mallory had ever seen were walking towards Mallory's hospital bed.

The first was a wizard with a peg leg and a fake eyeball that was whirring around in it's socket. A good chunk of his nose was missing, and his face was covered in scars.

The second was a young woman with bright purple hair, who was hurrying after the scarred man.

Each of them wore red robes with a shiny badge affixed to the front. The girl's robe was large on her, and she was clutching a clipboard and some scrolls to her chest as she scurried behind the larger man with the peg leg.

Dumbledore sighed, and the adults moved to the side where Mallory couldn't hear.

Mallory sat up in her bed, eyes flicking between the peg leg wizard and the headmaster. She caught only a few words: _investigation,_ _witnesses_, and _veritaserum._ It was enough to guess that the witch and wizard were Detective Inspectors, here to investigate Darla Rowle's murder.

The wizard DIs conjured chairs and sat down next to Mallory's hospital bed. The man shuffled a bit, huffing and rubbing the stump where she guessed the peg leg met flesh.

The purple-haired witch took out a roll of parchment and a quill. "Noting for the record that the witness has her Headmaster, one Albus Dumbledore, and Head of House, Severus Snape, present."

The quill wrote by itself, parchment suspended in mid-air. Mallory stared.

"Witness, are you Mallory Hopkins of Devonshire and a muggleborn?"

"What's me being muggleborn have to do with anything?"

Peg Leg interjected, "if you had magical parents, they'd need to be here. Now answer Trainee Tonk's question."

"Er— yes, I am."

Snape or Dumbledore could stand in for her parents? Her parents _couldn't_ make big decisions for her, here?

"Mr. Snape, could you state for the record that you have legal authority over the witness, Miss Mallory Hopkins, and consent to the administration of veritaserum prior to questioning the witness about the death of Miss Darla Rowle?"

"Yes, I do."

Trainee Tonks withdrew a small vial from her robes. "For the record, I'm administering one drop of veritaserum, which should be sufficient given the subject's age and weight."

Mallory frowned. "What's veraserum?"

"Silence!" hissed Snape. "You'll do what the auror tells you to do."

"Truth serum, kid." Peg Leg said, voice gruff. "Just a drop."

"You're only going to ask me about last night?" she asked, and immediately regretted it.

"You doin' something illegal?" Peg Leg's voice rose. _Fuck._

She told Danny about Hogwarts, breaking the Statute of Secrecy. Damn her, for asking before _thinking._

Mallory looked away, as if she were trying to remember whether or not she was doing illegal things.

"No, I'm not breaking any laws." she said.

"Good." Peg Leg nodded. "One drop, now. Open your mouth."

Mallory opened her mouth and let one drop of veritaserum be deposited on her tongue. It didn't taste like anything.

The effect was almost instantaneous. She felt light and floaty.

They wanted to know what happened, and she wanted to tell them. Wanted that more than she wanted anything.

She saw it in her mind's eye. "I woke up in the Black Lake. All the first year Slytherins were there. We were told to come out of the water and follow the Hooded Figures."

"Hooded figures?" Peg Leg's brow furrowed.

"Seventh years. One of them was Farley. The second years were there, too."

"Did you recognize anyone else?"

"Cokebottles was there, and Dead-Eyes Selwyn, and—"

"Cokebottles?" Peg Leg's frown penetrated the fog. "Who's Cokebottles?"

"I don't know her name. She's another first year."

"No, I meant anyone else besides the other first years. Did you recognize anyone else?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Alright, so you went into the forest. You were across from the Black Lake?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Did you see which of the students killed Rowle? When were you lead off from the main group?"

Her tongue stuttered over the two questions.

"Did you see who killed Rowle?"

"I never saw the murderer." she said. "It was dark. We lit our wands, but we were afraid to look. Branches kept crackling, and when Rowle went to look they killed her."

"When did you leave the group?"

"It was— someone said the professors were coming. Everyone ran. We were told to follow the seventh years back to the school, and I followed one. And, then they disappeared. There was another clearing. Rowle and Harper followed me."

The Detective Inspector turned to talk to the Professors, and she listened for questions. She wanted to answer questions, wanted to answer any questions, really.

"I don't think they wanted to be seen." she said, catching the end of a question.

"The killer? Why?"

"When Rowle died she said she saw something. She didn't say what, but next thing I heard was this sound and she was dead." Mallory blinked. "Harper said they wanted to kill me. That's why Rowle's dead, because the seventh years wanted to kill me."

"Nevermind that," said Peg Leg, "did you notice any changes in air pressure or humidity, a sudden change in weather or lighting?"

"It started raining and it got cold," Mallory thought, "the woods were noisy before, but then they went quiet."

"When?"

"I don't remember. I think— maybe when I was trying to make Harper and Rowle not become friends?"

"Not become friends?" Professor McGonagall interjected. "Why would you—"

A question.

"Because I wanted them to fight each other, instead of me."

"That's not relevent," said the Auror. "Now, tell me when the woods went quiet."

"After we lost the seventh year, when we were in the clearing."

Peg Leg the Auror made a face, and muttered something to Dumbledore. He nodded, and gestured at Trainee Tonks.

Trainee Tonks then shoved another potion down her throat.

Almost immediately, the fog lifted and she didn't want to answer questions anymore.

Holy fuck that was scary. She had no control, like someone flipped a switch and shut her brain off with it. She never ever wanted to be treated to truth serum again.

"Okay," Mallory said. "Can I go home now?"

She hadn't planned on saying it, hadn't really thought about it.

"I believe," said Headmaster Dumbledore, "that you should rest a while longer before returning to your common room."

"No, I meant I want to go home. To my parents."

There was silence from all adults present at her proclamation.

"You want to quit _school?_" asked Trainee Tonks, voice incredulous.

"I—" Mallory's eyes flicked between shocked faces. "I almost _died._ I watched my classmate die. Yesterday, bullies threatened to kill me because I'm muggleborn. They knocked me off my broom, cracked my skull open, and lit my things on fire. Yes, I want to go home."

"Now, you listen here." said Peg Leg. "Do you know how many children would love to go to Hogwarts? I know it's tough. But you gotta be strong for your classmates. They've lost their friend, too."

"Rowle wasn't—" Mallory broke off. "I'm not leaving because she died. I'm leaving because all yesterday, kids were telling me how they were going to kill me, and then I end up in the woods being hunted down by some psycho. She died because of me, because someone wanted to lure me out there!"

"Miss Hopkins!" said Professor McGonagall, "this is not your fault!"

She sat down on the chair next to Mallory's bed, face pale and grim.

"You don't need to fear being hurt. That's why we're here. If the students keep bullying you, you must come speak to us. We're here to help you."

And as much as Mallory wanted to believe her, she remembered what happened after the Battle on the Pitch. Professor McGonagall couldn't do anything, and Snape _wouldn't_ do anything.

"This is bigger than some kids bullying me! They were trying to have me killed."

"Hey kid," said Peg Leg, "no one's trying to kill you. And if someone is, that's my job to worry about it."

"Someone _is_ trying to kill me. You're not listening. The seventh years said so!"

"Alright, who's the someone?" He was humoring her.

"I don't know their names. It was one of the seventh years. They said if I didn't quit school, they'd have me expelled or _worse._"

The man with the peg leg and scarred face frowned. "You know something? The best thing you can do right now, to make yourself safe?"

"Go home." Mallory said, voice flat.

"No," he said. "You stay here, and learn how to defend yourself. You think this is the only time in your life there'll be something out there that wants to kill you? Go home with no magic and one day one of those big bads will come for you and there'll be nothing you can do, and then—"

"Alastor Moody!" hissed Professor McGonagall. "That is an entirely inappropriate topic of conversation for—"

"Kid saw death and she needs to toughen up. There's dark things out there, Minerva, and these kids aren't prepared to face them."

"_Face them?_" she looked aghast. "They're children!"

"I quite agree with Professor McGonagall." said the Headmaster. "Now, Alastor, I believe you wished to speak to the seventh year Slytherins?"

Moody grimaced, and stood up. "Alright alright, I get it and I'm going."

With that, Headmaster Dumbledore, Trainee Tonks, and Alastor Moody the Auror left the Hospital Wing, leaving Mallory alone with Professor McGonagall and Snape.

Mallory sunk down in her bed a bit.

"Miss Hopkins." spoke Snape.

She glanced up. "Sir?"

"Students have a tendency to _gossip_ after such events, at Hogwarts. They use _heroics_ to garner popularity and prestige amongst their peers." He crossed his arms and his robes flaired out behind him.

"You will not speak on this event to your classmates. And if I find you have, you or Harper, you'll face detention. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir." she said dully.

Snape turned to leave, but stopped mid-step. "If you find your schoolwork too demanding in your first year, you'll be ill-suited for the real world when you're an adult."

"I'm not quitting school, I'm quitting Hogwarts." said Mallory.

Snape smiled. "I'm afraid you're not in the position to quit anything, Miss Hopkins."

And then he was gone, out the door with his robes swirling behind him, like a great ugly dungeon bat.

"Miss Hopkins," said Professor McGonagall. "I wish to apologize."

Mallory stared.

"If your classmates continue to harass you, and Professor Snape isn't willing to help you, I want you to report them to me."

"So you do think they're after me."

"No Miss Hopkins, I don't. However, I found out about what happened last night, with those students all hexing each other and— this has gone too far."

Mallory nodded.

"You need to have faith in yourself. You're a bright young girl with your whole life ahead of you."

"I don't want to quit because the classes are too hard, it's because I don't want to deal with people who— they _hate_ me. I don't want that."

"Miss Hopkins, I'm afraid you'll find people out there who will hate you, no matter where you go. And— pardon me, I don't mean you deserve their hatred, only that there are people out in the world who are unkind, and will always be unkind."

"So what, I just need to toughen up, like that auror said?"

Mallory wondered if she could make the school expel her. If she stopped going to all her classes and lit the tapestries in the Slytherin common room on fire, would that be sufficient?

Professor McGonagall sighed, and shook her head. "Of course not. Miss Hopkins, I've suffered through many losses, and I understand how you must be feeling right now, but you cannot scorn the concern of those who wish to help you."

The old lady patted her leg and stood up, leaving Mallory to sulk in silence.

* * *

It was almost midnight, and Mallory was still in the hospital wing.

It was testament to how badly The Initiation and What Followed fucked her up, that she didn't notice Harper was on the bed next to her own.

Not until Montague visited, did she remember him. Something like shame crawled across her skin.

Montague only stuck around for a few minutes. They boy was suspiciously red-eyed, like he'd been crying. She spent that visit staring at the empty bed across from her, trying very hard not to think.

Now it was silent. Both she and Harper were awake, and neither of them were saying anything. She was nervous, fingers tapping rhythms out on the metal headboard.

The silence bothered her, now moreso than ever.

She wanted to ask him half a dozen things. But it _hurt_ to think of the questions, because thinking meant going back to the forest.

Twice already she found herself having the Draught of Peace shoved down her throat, because she forgot she was safe in the hospital wing.

Nurse Pomfrey said she'd switch her to calming potions after tonight, which were less _numbing_ and worked better to quell sudden afflictions of panic.

Mallory snuck another look at Harper. He caught her eye, and looked away. His face was still like chalk, and he was having a harder time staying in the _now_ than she was— kept losing track of where he was. She could tell, because every time he did, his face went funny and he started reaching for his wand.

"The potion for your memory." Her voice sounded off in the dark, too loud and out of place.

He huffed, and shook his head, turning his back to her in his bed. Not the reaction she was going for. Her brain was too slow like this, everything jumbled up.

She realized he thought she was asking for information on likely-illicit potions, right after a girl died in front of them.

"M'not askin— I mean," a note of nervousness colored her tone, "if I had it, would I've been able to make that not happen?"

Harper turned around, "No." There was a pause. "Maybe, I don't know."

"You don't know?"

His voice was turning confrontational. "No, I don't."

Misinterpreted again, fuck damn it.

"I didn't mean, I— there's something I could've done, then?"

He looked down at his hands. "I don't know. Rowle and I, we both took it. I thought when I started— it's supposed to make you sharper, you know? Think faster, make connections."

"Yeah," Mallory said when he stopped for a few seconds, trying not to sound like she was nudging him to go on.

"It wasn't enough, but— you can tell the difference between people who take the potions and people who don't, you know?" he whispered, "they're sharper, better under pressure. But you kept thinking when I— I don't know."

Mallory didn't say anything.

"You're a freak." he said, without fire.

She didn't reply. Didn't care. The medicine dulled her sense of outrage and anger, pulling her towards comfortable numbness.

Her fingers tapped against the railing, filling the silence.

Tap-tap, tap-tap.

Harper didn't speak another word.

* * *

AN: Yes, you can die of hypothermia if it isn't freezing out. Freezing to death has to do with your body failing to maintain homeostasis, running out of energy to burn.


	9. Aftermath: Alastor Moody

Note:

This time there's a short interval between updates, largely because I wanted to wrap this part up. If you haven't read chapter 8, go back and read that.

This chapter is a bit of an experiment. Let me know what you think. I'll note that the opinions of characters do not necessarily reflect that of the author's.

* * *

He got the call at seven forty-eight in the morning.

Alastor Moody didn't need to be told where to go. He followed this case for years.

The Cracklewood Carver.

First time it happened was in 1978. Three dead children were found in this groty little clearing in the Forbidden Forest, mutilated. Local kids from Hogsmeade, too. The aurors working the case didn't catch any leads and the file ended up in a drawer, collecting dust.

Seven years later, it happened again. Same clearing, three kids killed and mutilated the same way. Still, no leads. No one had a clue how the kids ended up in the Forest.

And now, seven years after the second attack, it was happening again.

Alastor Moody apparated into the clearing with a loud _crack._

First thing to hit him was the smell. Charred flesh, the thick smell of blood, shit, and _rot_. His eye scanned the circle, taking in the details.

It wasn't in the top 20 worst things he'd ever seen. But his protege was off to the side, throwing up.

It was expected. First time you see a scene like it, you get sick. At least the girl had the presence of mind not to vomit on the evidence.

Moody limped around the edge of the clearing, taking it in. At the center of the circle was was what at first glance appeared to be a small tree with two charred bodies huddled at its roots.

But it wasn't a small tree, it was the mangled body of a little girl.

Her hair was matted with blood and gore. Wood, twine and strips of flesh held her in place. The intestines and viscerae bulged through the gaps in the bindings. Chunks of flesh were outright missing, half her face a yawning wound. The girl's remaining eye socket was stuffed full of sharp stones.

Auror Moody looked away, feeling weary.

He was three months away from retirement, and hadn't planned on taking any big cases. He wanted to devote his time to training Tonks. More to the point, he knew how these things went. Last couple months you get sloppy, attention on the finish line. You slip up, only Dark Wizards don't forgive mistakes.

But this was his last crack at the Cracklewood Carver, at the person or _thing_ that's been out there for 21 years doing _this_ to kids.

"What are we looking at, here?" he asked Tonks, who'd finished throwing up. She couldn't learn if she refused to look. Aurors saw worse than this, and you had to be able to think through the fear and revulsion, to look into the black without flinching.

"Kids." she said, wiping her eyes. "They're kids." She sniffled a bit, hair a mousy brown instead of the usual blinding array of neon colors she favored. Girl was still soft, got it in her head that bad things don't happen to innocents.

"I know they're kids, trainee. Now we got a job to do, so let's get to it. What d'ya see?"

"I— uh, well. One, she's all," Tonks pointed at the blonde. "I don't know what that is."

"Yeah," Moody hobbled forward.

He drew his wand.

"Wait!" Tonks said, "Professor Dumbledore said not to examine the bodies until he came back. No magic."

_Of course he did._

His eye could see a lot, but not everything. Needed spells to tell when they died. And to get an idea of what spells killed the blonde girl burnt the other two to a crisp.

They likely died of smoke inhalation, like the other Carver victims. One would be turned into some kind of sick sculpture of meat, sticks, and stone. The other two would burn at the sculpture's feet.

Moody cursed.

This wasn't supposed to have happened. Aurors set up protection charms in Hogsmeade after the second Carver attack. They checked them every year. And it occurred to the department that the Carver might go after Hogwarts students, if the killer couldn't get to the children in Hogsmeade. They _warned_ the school about it.

There was a crack of branches and Moody's eye swivelled to see Dumbledore, standing at the edge of the clearing.

"Ah, Alastor. Right on time, I see." the old man looked tired, the way good men look when filth attack little kids.

"You went back in time." said Moody. He didn't need to ask. It was the obvious conclusion to make, when Dumbledore was one of the few to have personal use of a time turner.

With any luck, the three bodies in the clearing were just transfigured logs. Which was why Dumbledore didn't want Moody or Tonks examining them before he went back in time.

The trick to changing time was for there to be no difference in what they perceive before and after someone goes back in time. Otherwise they'll cause a paradox.

"I used it once too many," Dumbledore's eyes were sorrowful. "I had only enough time to save two."

Moody grimaced. "Which one is dead?"

"Young Miss Rowle."

Child of Death Eater scum. A revenge killing?

"The live ones?"

"A young Miss Hopkins and Master Harper." said Dumbledore.

Now wasn't that curious. This very well could be a case of someone pretending to be the Cracklewood Carver. All of magical Britain knew the Carver struck seven years ago, and seven years before that.

If someone was hankering to hide a murder, copying the MO of a well-known serial killer the obvious way to go about it. It'd be lazy auror work to take the scene at face value.

It was suspicious that the girl Dumbledore couldn't save was the child of a Death Eater. He gave a moment's thought to the consideration that Dumbledore let her die, and then dismissed it. Dumbledore was a forgiving man, believed in second chances.

He's not going to blame a little girl for the misdeeds of her parents.

Moody flicked his wand. The two charred corpses untransfigured into lumps of mud. Another spell determined that the time of death for the young Rowle was 4:11 AM.

The two kids Dumbledore saved were lucky.

If Dumbledore _hadn't_ gone back in time, they would've died here. Seeing their corpses was what prompted Dumbledore to go back in time.

"What time did you get here?" he asked Dumbledore.

"Which time?" Dumbledore asked, voice grave.

"Chronologically, for you." The more information he had, the clearer the picture. And he'd better be able to tell if people were distorting the truth, when their stories didn't match up.

At his side, Tonks conjured up a notepad and took out one of those fancy self-inking quills.

"Ah, it was seven thirty." the wizard stroked his beard in thought. "Professor Snape was alerted by several concerned students that their classmates were missing, so of course he determined to inform me. I set out and found this," Dumbledore's eyes fell on the dead child, "horrific display. I went back as far as I could to prevent it."

Great. Dumbledore's pet Death Eater was involved.

"Which students told Snape about the missing kids? And what time did you go back to?"

"I believe it was 4:16 when I arrived in the clearing, and a young Miss Gemma Farley and Terence Higgs reported the children missing."

"I'll need to speak with them." said Moody. "And the other two."

"Remember to be compassionate, Alastor. These children— they will shoulder this terrible burden for the rest of their lives."

"I've got to ask them questions, can't go easy on them. More I know, the faster I can catch the filthy bastard that did this."

* * *

The so-called _concerned_ students who reported the kids missing were Gemma Farley and Terence Higgs.

They were seated in an empty classroom, the teacher's desk conscripted for Moody's use. Scattered papers and a collection of dusty textbooks were stacked in the corner, a thin layer of dust displaced from the wooden surface where the books had been dragged out of the way.

Gemma Farley sat across from Auror Moody, hands folded in her lap. She had straight brown hair that curled at the ends, and met his eyes with a small smile.

Her bookbag was placed down next to her chair, metal buckle gleaming in the light.

"Hello Auror Moody," Farley raised her hand up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm pleased to meet you, I've heard great stories about you."

Het met her gaze with a flat stare. From his cloak he withdrew a small vial, and placed it on the desk. The smoky glass glimmered in the candlelight, and Farley's flicked over to it.

"Ah, that."

Moody stared her down, face stern enough to make a grown man met sweat. He was trying to get an estimation of her, figure out how she ticked. What would she do, how quickly would the silence get to her?

She looked down briefly, clasping her hands. "Are we going to start a dialogue between us?"

The young lady didn't give a hint of fear. There was almost always a tell. The sweat on someone's brow, a twitch of emotion, defensive posture and overly formal speech, the tells of a liar.

Potions could account for that, some cocktail of calming and wit-sharpening potions, to dull the nerves. Or she was naturally unflappable. He was betting on the potions.

"A kid died last night. You're not even sweating."

She glanced away, candlelight exaggerating her features. "It was a ruse."

"You knew about the murder?"

She gave him a sidelong glance, lips quirked up in a small smile. "I thought the children would be safe if I had them follow the seventh years. I suspected something was wrong, you see? In six years not once did a Professor interfere with our tradition."

Moody scowled. The girl adopted some small sad smile, like she was a martyr. She wanted him to believe that she felt guilty for not realizing the disruption of their event was a ruse. Either that, or she really _did_ feel guilty. Somehow, he doubted she did.

"The Slytherin Initiation," he started.

"Why haven't you asked me to take the veritaserum yet?" she asked, gently.

Because he wanted to ask her these questions again when he could be sure she wasn't lying. Often what was most interesting, was what people chose to lie about— it said something about their character, about how they wished other people see them.

Even if she gave the same answers, it spoke to her foresight. But there was more to it than that: what blows did she soften, how did her wording change?

"Trainee Tonks is going to administer the veritaserum." he said, and Tonks stepped up from where she was slouching against the wall.

Three drops later and Farley's eyes were glazed over, smile fading into a blank stone-faced stare.

"Did you know about any plots to murder people?" he asked.

"No." she said.

That meant nothing. She might've been someone's pawn in the game, and then they obliviated her once her usefulness ended. He had to ask, though.

"Why did you order the students to follow the seventh years?"

"Because I was certain the seventh years knew their way back to the castle. The first and second years weren't familiar with the paths, and I wanted to avoid anyone getting lost."

"Why were all the students out in the woods last night?"

"We were taking part in the Slytherin Initiation Ritual, a tradition that's been maintained for a thousand years."

"Do you know anyone who would want Harper, Rowle, or Hopkins dead?"

"Yes, I imagine several people would. The Malfoys, Selwyns, and Notts all want Miss Hopkins to leave Slytherin House, and I've no doubt they'd use violence to achieve their end. Rowle's family is disliked by Parkinson, Bole, and Bletchley. Harper is disliked by the Malfoys, Selwyns, and Notts."

The Malfoys, Selwyns, and Notts were all rabid blood purists, so it made sense they'd detest the half blood and the muggleborn.

He had no clue what was going on between the Parkinson family and Rowles. Bole and Bletchly, if he strained his memory, there was something about a business deal gone wrong.

Moody glanced over to where Tonks was standing, diligently writing this all down like it was the solemn truth. He almost grinned.

Time to teach young Trainee Tonks a lesson.

"How would you evade veritaserum?" asked Moody, flicking his eyes back to the girl under the truth serum.

It was a question all good aurors knew to ask. Though in this case, he was mostly asking for Tonk's benefit. Even if the girl had no idea how to evade it, someone _else_ might. And the culprit would erase her memory regardless of whether she asked them to, or not.

It was best to assume a witness or suspect's memory was a lump of swiss cheese, with false-memory charms and obliviations layered on top of one another to create a confusing muddle designed to mislead Aurors.

"I'd have someone obliviate me after I wrote down what I didn't want to forget."

Which meant when she went in for questioning, she'd appear innocent of any crimes. Once she got back to her room, she could pick up her papers and read all about what she forgot.

It also suggested she was highly sentimental, controlling, or was doing something that required continuous knowledge of her illegal activities. Usually people would just elect to have the memory vanished with no record.

"Who would you ask to obliviate you?"

"Higgs or Stimpson. They'd then obliviate themselves."

So far, it was the garden-variety protection most people used to protect themselves against veritaserum. But that she chose to hold onto the information spoke to her naivete.

"Where would you hide the information you didn't want to forget?"

"In a lockbox behind a mirror on the fourth floor."

_Exactly_, because the same mind that generated the hiding spot in the first place was being asked to re-generate that path. Even if she obliviated her memory of hiding the information under her bed, it was still _her brain_ that decided to hide it there.

And if he was right, she spent a lot of time thinking about how to hide information, so the ghosts of those memories were lurking around the edges, to the point where some random hidden room seemed like the _obvious_ place to hide something, to her.

Now for the true question: whether or not she realized this, herself.

"Would you guess I'd ask these questions, before you were taken here for questioning?"

"Yes."

"Can you imagine how you'd protect the information, given that I'm going to check that lockbox?"

"Yes."

"How would you protect the information?"

He suspected she'd mention a variety of notice-me-not charms, or a lock keyed to her blood. Some of the more cautious criminals would put their hideouts under the fidelius charm, though he doubted she could cast _that._

"78 cards are in a tarot deck. Each one corresponds to a location in Hogwarts. I'd pick a random card and hide the information in the location keyed to the card. I would hide the information there, then obliviate myself of the locations and the random card that I picked. When enough time has passed, an enchantment will be triggered to transport the information into my care."

Oh, _fuck._ This method started appearing among dark wizards and criminal types some 50 years ago. It was still fairly rare, given how effective it was if the criminal did it correctly. You'd expect everyone to adopt the method, but those who used it weren't sharing.

Top Death Eaters like Lucius Malfoy, known members of Mancini's Cabal, The Golem Forger, and several others used a variant of this method.

He eyed the girl, still stone-faced with her hands folded neatly in her lap. There were cases where people thought of this method on their own. It didn't take a genius to do it, only someone who read a book or two on muggle cryptography.

Gemma Farley was a half blood, and might have access to books like that. It didn't mean she was necessarily in contact with the most dangerous and elusive criminals in the wizarding world.

But her knowledge of this method opened that up as a possibility.

The _real_ method involved over a million random locations across the world. Farley's method was weak, in comparison. She came up with the 78 hiding spots in Hogwarts herself, so she could probably think of them again.

And aurors could search each and every one until they found her hidden information.

The _pool of potential hiding places_ was what protected the information. Pick a large enough pool of potential places to hide the information, and it becomes impossible for someone to determine where the information is hidden.

You can't force a mind to re-generate the location, because the location came from the roll of a dice or a random number.

"And how long will it take for the information to make its way back to you?"

"I would've used the tarot cards for that, as well."

If she was sufficiently clever enough to come up with this on her own, he'd be foolish to assume the rabbit hole only went so deep.

Someone else might hold the key to Farley's memory. _She_ might remember thinking of using her tarot card randomizer, but that could be a false-memory, as well. Say, someone else came up with a better idea, and then the students used _that_ method to hide her memories. They then erase her memory of replacing her old idea with the new one.

In other words, she might _think_ she'd use 78 different potential hiding spots in Hogwarts. In the process of refining this idea, she asked a friend for help, and they said _200_ hiding spots was better. And they should make the pool of potential hiding spots across Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, instead.

Her mind would re-generate her old 78 hiding spots idea, but wouldn't come up with her friend's idea unless she spent a lot of time thinking about it— so much time that an obliviation wouldn't wipe all traces of it from her mind.

"What sort of information would you hide with that method?"

"I don't know." She blinked. "Blackmail, secrets, rule infractions, that sort of thing."

"If you committed a murder, would you use this system to protect the memory of it?"

"No, I'd erase all record of it. This isn't secure enough to be trusted with something so serious."

Now for the question that'd make his job easier or very _very_ difficult.

"Who else did you tell about your method?"

"I don't know."

"Would you tell other people about your method?"

"Of course. I care about my friends and allies."

Great.

He _hated_ Slytherins. Her memory was a piece of swiss cheese, full of holes. And he'd get similar responses from whomever else she told about this method.

The ones too stupid to have those kinds of contingencies in effect wouldn't be trusted with anything important. Pawns, at best. And the ones who _were_ clever would erase their memories for them.

That wasn't even mentioning the students who knew occlumency, and would be able to fool veritaserum without the use of overly-complicated schemes.

It also meant that asking her further questions was useless, since they were probably fake memories if she had anything to do with it. Still, he had to be thorough.

He flicked his eyes over to Tonks, who's brow was furrowed with irritation. Her arms were crossed and she was _glaring_ at Gemma Farley. Right, Tonks graduated last year. She probably knew Farley, or knew _of_ her.

"Did you know about any of this?" he asked Tonks. The trainee's dark eyes narrowed.

"_No,_" Tonks said. "She was a prefect, a bloody annoying one. Always so polite and _kind_ while she took points off— _Oh I'm so sorry to spoil your fun, but—_ you know?"

"You breakin' rules, Trainee Tonks?" He squinted at her angrily with one eye. A joke.

She laughed and grinned. "Firewhiskey, _all_ the firewhiskey."

He snorted and shook his head. "No chance you know anything about what she's up to, then?"

Tonks shrugged. "There were a lot of _things_ going on in the castle, I don't know."

A half shrug like that indicated that she didn't believe what she was saying. Arms crossed meant she was on her back foot, but her arms were folded _before_ he asked. Probably uncomfortable about the entire situation, rather than her position in some Slytherin's hidden information.

Her face gave away far more. A twitch of emotion that might be _contempt_ or _fear._ She was trying to hide it from him.

"You know what was going on in the Castle, Tonks." He was disappointed, really. Trainees should no better than to try and fool him.

"I _don't_ know." she was angry. "Or at least, I don't think it has anything to do with Rowle's death, or any of this."

"No," he pushed his chair back. "You thought of something, just then. A hint or a clue, something rang a bell. What was it?"

"There was someone selling potions in the castle. One of my roommates was getting some mixture— it smelled like wit-sharpening potion."

He nodded, catching on to what she was saying. "You think Farley's behind it."

"I think— I don't want my roommate to get into trouble. And I don't know if it was Farley who sold them, but I _do_ know she's a whiz at potions."

Official policy was that it was cheating, unethical to use them to get ahead. But every crook and wannabe dark lord in the wizarding world used potions like that. If the good guys didn't use them, they'd forever be at a disadvantage.

"I won't say a word, but tell me quick what you remember."

"I don't remember much. It just— it strikes me that if someone was selling potions to students, they'd need a way of protecting their client list and stock."

Moody nodded, and then hit Farley with an obliviate, wiping the conversation between him and Tonks from her mind, as well as his questions on her method of protection.

No need to have her on guard, once she was out from under the spell's influence. She might _suspect_ he asked her those questions, but she wouldn't be sure.

"What happened after you ran back inside the castle?" Moody asked Farley, as though they never stopped with her interrogation.

"We thought they were lost in the woods," said Farley. "It had been an hour, so we went back out and started searching."

"You didn't find them?" he asked.

Farley shook her head. "We used _homnium revelio_ every few meters. They weren't anywhere to be found, so we went back in. I thought they might've gone back to the Common Room while we were out searching, but they weren't there, either. After that, we realized something was wrong. We decided to report them missing to Professor Snape."

"Do you know of anyone who told outsiders about the Slytherin Initiation?"

"No."

"Do you suspect anyone of telling outsiders about it?"

She blinked. "Flint, or maybe Derrick. Their magic has been weak of late."

"If you were going to kill Rowle, why would you do it?"

"If she was about to become the next dark lady, or if someone was threatening my family unless I did."

"Have you been worried about your family lately?"

"No."

_If_ Farley wasn't lying, it was a clear explanation for why Farley knew the kids were missing.

Which left only a dozen unanswered questions and mysteries left to solve.

How did Dumbledore know where to find the three students, before he went back in time?

Why did Dumbledore use his time-turner, before he went back in time?

If someone plotted to murder the young Rowle and knew about Dumbledore's time turner, they'd force him to use it earlier. Then he wouldn't have the chance to use it to save the children.

What's worse was the suspect pool.

Every Slytherin alumni and current Slytherin knew about Initiation Night. Chances were, not all Slytherins kept their initiation a secret, in spite of the magical _cost_.

That meant the number of potential suspects just shot through the roof.

* * *

Which brought him to the Hospital Wing, where two little kids sat on their respective beds. The boy was short with blonde hair, and had a hollowed-out look to him. The black-haired girl was stone-faced and huddled in her blankets.

The boy— Harper, he had his eyes fixed on the Professors, worrying the fabric of his blanket with twisting fingers.

Traumatized, likely. They both were.

The girl went first, which wasn't ideal. She likely didn't know what she saw, being a muggleborn. Didn't get raised around magic or have an understanding of magic, yet. Kid would learn in time.

But Harper's parents needed to be contacted, since the Ministry wanted to use Veritaserum. It was legal for Ministry-approved purposes on those of age. But underage students needed consent from their parents or guardians.

Snape could act as Hopkin's guardian, since she was a muggleborn and he was her Head of House.

The girl looked up at the vial. "What's veraserum?" she asked, voice hoarse.

"Truth serum, kid." Moody said, voice gruff. "Just a drop."

"You're only going to ask me about last night?" she asked.

Moody wanted to laugh. Little Slytherin, one of the few muggleborns ever to get into Slytherin. Meant she was crafty or ambitious in some _exemplary_ way. Likely thought he was going to ask her about her trunk stuffed with cheating quills.

"You doin' something illegal?" Moody's voice rose.

Dumbledore coughed loudly behind him. A reminder that he was dealing with traumatized children and not Dark Wizards or other Aurors. Moody wasn't around children very often.

It showed.

Hopkin's face twitched, and she looked away. "No, I'm not breaking any laws."

Which was telling in it's own way. A twitch of emotion meant someone was hiding something.

But then the kid's eyes broke contact with his own.

Contrary to popular belief, liars tended to look you dead in the eye when they lied. Glancing to the side often indicated they were trying to remember something.

Of course, cunning liars might realize an Auror knows that, and look away. Important part of Auror work is figuring out how crafty your suspect is, whether or not they're capable of hoodwinking you.

This kid was no master of manipulation.

She glanced away too slowly, a practiced response instead of an automatic one. _Further_, the kid practically repeated his damned sentence back at him. _Another_ mark of a lie.

"Good." Moody nodded. "One drop, now. Open your mouth."

'Course, he didn't give a damn about kids with their cheating quills and fanged frisbees. It broke school rules, but not the law. He was here to catch a killer.

She opened her mouth, and one drop of veritaserum, the appropriate dosage for someone her weight, was deposited on her tongue.

First thing he had her do was recount the events leading up to Dumbledore rescuing the two of them in the woods, and ask if she saw Miss Rowle's murderer.

Moody turned around in his chair to look at McGonagall. "Who told you that the Slytherins were in the woods?"

Professor McGonagall clasped her hands. "A Gryffindor prefect, Percy Weasley."

Kid wasn't helpful, just like he expected.

And Moody was frustrated after he finished talking with her.

Kids tend to want to believe the world is against them. They want to think the authority figures in their lives are holding them back with _rules._

Usually they get over it.

Problems started, however, when the kid was onto something. Then they started thinking adults were always lying or plain ignorant.

When you're a muggleborn in Wizarding Britain, half of the population is out to get you. Her classmates probably _did_ want to hurt her. That didn't mean she ought to quit school.

There were bad people all over. Only thing a person coul do was toughen up and be prepared. Easy to start blaming other people, villifying the ones who wanted to help but aren't perfect and don't always agree with you.

He knew he didn't get through to her. Kids don't want to listen to experience.

Telling a kid they'd regret it twenty years down the line didn't work because they lacked a sense of _scale_, how fast things go, how little time you really have.

He wasn't going to make her understand, and he had a case to solve.

* * *

Two hours later Harper's parents responded to the Ministry's owl, agreeing to permit the usage of veritaserum.

Harper knew more, in terms of noting magic performed. Kid also was using a number of potions to augment his wits and memory. While the potions themselves weren't illegal, using them in school was against policy.

Adults buying those potions for children _was_ illegal, and Moody was going to enjoy writing up a citation for Mr. and Mrs. Harper.

He was also going to be writing up citations for the use of underage magic for most of the first year Slytherins. It was _very unlikely_ that Harper and his yearmates all learned multiple spells in the span of one day.

In fact, the level at which Harper described the casting suggested that some of the first years had formal tutoring in magical theory. _Also_ illegal, for kids under the age of eleven.

At any rate, it looked like neither Harper nor Hopkins were at the center of this plot.

The target of the killer was most likely Rowle.

* * *

Percy Weasley had no memory of telling Professors that students were out of bed. In fact, he had no memory of last night, at all.

* * *

Two days later, Moody had a few ideas of what happened:

The first was that some student thought to play a prank, and alerted the professors to the Initiation. The Cracklewood Carver, unable to attack Hogsmeade, used the chaos to kidnap three students.

The second was that someone was pretending to be the Cracklewood Carver to draw attention away from the identities of the children, one of whom was the real target of assassination.

The third was someone wanted one of those students dead, and apparated them to the Carver's habitual ritual ground. Just in case, they obliviated the students and cast false-memory charms on them.

But the killer and their allies left no magical trails to follow. Weasley remembered nothing, Farley and Higgs had the same possibly-fabricated story.

When he tried having Farley generate all her possible hiding spots, he found nothing. He would be waiting for the enchantment to return her little black book of illicit information, though.

* * *

All of this meant Moody had to attack this from another angle.

At the very least, he could verify that it _wasn't_ the Carver.

Seven was a powerful magical number. Repetitions of seven were even more powerful. And _seven_ was used three times, with three being the most powerful number next to seven.

He was no expert, but three repetitions of seven, with three children slain each time but this one? That pointed to dark and ancient magics.

There were a handful of people in this country knowledgeable enough to perform that magic. But if Moody was right and the Carver was using a ritual to _summon_ something, then he'd need more specialized help.

Other countries taught certain sorts of magic, the sort that was banned at Hogwarts and other civilized institutions. One such country was Muskovy, with its Koldovstoretz School of Magic.

Those blighters thought teaching students _soul magic_ was a bright idea. Though in this case, it worked out for Moody.

Professor Corvinus Blackthorn was one of the few experts in soul magic in the world, and taught Dark Magic at Koldovstoretz. The man avoided Britain, which was why he wasn't rotting in Azkaban where he belonged.

The man raised up inferi and summoning up dead things to do his bidding. Made _deals_ with them, offering up slivers of his soul in exchange for power. People like that weren't trustworthy, and at some point they stopped being human.

If there was anyone who might know if the culprit was the Cracklewood Carver, it would be him.

Which meant Alastor Moody would be taking a portkey to Russia.

* * *

Note:

"Mirror on the fourth floor" is not an error. I didn't forget that the twin's hideout is behind the same mirror.


	10. The Cracklewood Carver Part 1

I had 13k words written, so I've split the chapter into two to give me longer to edit the second half.

* * *

_September 4, 1992 (Friday)_

There were experiences that challenged a person and made them stronger for it. Others did the opposite, hollowing one out and leaving them _diminished_.

Which one was The Forest and What Followed?

Something precious inside her broke the other night. She'd known before that horrible things can happen to children. She knew from the telly that bad things happened all the time.

But nothing like that ever happened to her before. Now it felt real, because someone she knew died, instead of a random face on a screen. Even though she didn't _like_ Rowle, it still had more impact on her than a hundred late-night specials on child abductions.

Even scarier, _Mallory_ almost died. Luck of the draw, for all she knew.

An owl soared by, tapping at the window. Mallory stared, blank. The potion Madame Pomfrey gave her made her numb. It was better than feeling—

Terror. Waiting for the murderer to walk through the doors of the Hospital Wing and finish her off. Seeing Rowle's corpse every time she shut her eyes.

Only downside to the medication? It left her without the will to get up out of bed.

The nurse saw the owl and opened the latch.

It hopped over to Mallory's bedside and held out a leg. The envelope wasn't thick parchment, but bleached-white and thin.

A spark of _something_ penetrated her bubble of numbness. Only non-magicals wrote on normal paper.

She took the letter, and undid its seal.

It was a reply from Danny. She sent off his letter after she met with the twins. It detailed her dealings with the bullies. Pre-forest Mallory wanted advice on how to beat them.

She read the letter once, and then re-read it three more times.

_Mal, _

_You're worrying too much. You're acting like these kids are us. It's the first week, they're establishing a pecking order amongst themselves, so they have extra reason to show off and get creative. In a couple weeks they'll get lazy and stick to insults. Unless one of them has some kind of mental issue. Then you might have a problem. _

_Tell me if you have a problem. I'll get creative. _

_The Darla girl's made her point: she's tough shit and will fuck people up if they mess with her. Same goes for Harper and Montague, though I think they've made themselves her henchmen on accident, which is sort of hilarious. Play it cool for a couple days. Kids that angry? They'll be tearing each other apart before you know it. You won't even have to do anything. _

_Also: FLYING CARS?! YES! Fuck legality, we're getting a flying car. _

_-DP_

Danny didn't write like an eleven year old, he wrote like a smart-arse. _Establishing?_ Very funny. He knew she wouldn't know that word. Mallory read comics, not fancy adult books. It was fine when she could turn around and ask him what he meant. But now he was lurking in Dartmoor while she was all the way up in Scotland, with no handy payphones nearby.

She could figure it out through context. Maybe he wrote the part about _the pecking order_ so she could guess the meaning, while still getting to show off how clever he was— Danny was tricky that way.

But he wasn't all-knowing.

Darla Rowle was dead.

Worse, it wasn't over yet. The professors thought they could protect her, but they believed the danger was over. Even Professor McGonagall didn't think the killer would come after Mallory.

Either that or they didn't want _her_ to think she was in danger. They had to realize the murderer would consider Mallory and Harper loose ends.

But the people in charge wanted Mallory to feel safe. _They_ would handle the scary murderer and Mallory was free to cower behind their robes. Yet, it wasn't their life on the line if they failed.

The sound of someone clearing their throat drew Mallory's attention.

She turned her head and Colin was there, standing beside her hospital bed. The sun was still rising outside her window.

"You're okay!" His face lit up, only to crumple a moment later when he caught the expression on her face.

Her gaze shifted away, and she scooted herself up in bed. The pillow was propped between her back and the metal headboard. She still felt _hollow,_ like someone scooped out her insides. Fuck, that made her want to throw up.

_Wood, twine and strips of flesh held her in place. The intestines and viscera bulged through the gaps in the bindings._

Mallory drew her legs up, tucking them under her chin, arm covering her mouth. Easier not to throw up, in this position.

The potion Pomfrey gave her must be wearing off.

"I heard," his voice was hesitant, "you were in the Forbidden Forest. Professor McGonagall said something bad happened?"

She wasn't looking at him. Couldn't see his face, eyes fixed on the empty bed across from her's. Didn't want to look and see—

Emotion, feelings, _things._

Wanted to stay wrapped in cotton, numb.

"And someone died?" He asked. "I don't know— Professor McGonagall wasn't clear—"

"Remember the girl with the blonde ringlets?" her voice came out muffled behind her arm. Couldn't remember if he met her or not.

_Blonde hair matted with blood and chunks of gore—_

"I— no?" he said, "is that the one that died? Holy smokes, someone really died?"

"Yeah." she replied, eyes fixed on the bed. The foot-board was metal with vertical bars welded into a horizontal one, and the sheets were tucked in military-style, like how dad made the bed.

"Did you _see_ it? Like, the body?" His eyes were wide as saucers, mouth gaping a bit.

_—chunks of flesh were outright missing, half of Rowle's face was a yawning wound._

Mallory hadn't realized she'd turn to face him. This incident, she thought, would create a gap between them. Any sort of friendship would be stunted because this was an adventure to him, a story.

She cringed.

Wasn't his fault. It was a good thing, that he thought that way. That he hadn't been there.

She swallowed down the sour taste in her mouth. "No, I didn't actually see— I—" Didn't want to say she saw bodies, saw death. Didn't want to make it apparent because she knew he'd draw back like she was tainted. Wouldn't be able to hide his revulsion and it'd _hurt._

She dropped her head back on top of her knees, breath slightly wetting the meat of her arm when she exhaled.

Colin took that to mean she was _okay._ He got up and shoved himself onto the bed, scooting up next to her.

"You weren't in class yesterday, so you missed it. Professor McGonagall can turn into a cat!"

Didn't have the heart to tell him to go away. But the chatter wasn't _hurting_. It was a distraction from wanting to throw up, from the left-over panic and the horror.

"I had Charms with Hufflepuff and Transfiguration with Ravenclaw, but we still have Potions and Defense together."

Mallory gave him a sidelong glance. Voice too cheerful, topics too trite.

She'd guessed wrong. He didn't believe she was okay.

He knew she was upset and was trying to comfort her. Only he didn't know how, and was prattling on about _classes_, instead. Her lips quirked up, a twitch, a sliver of warmth penetrating the cotton in her brain.

"And we have prep after classes every day. It wasn't even _on_ the schedule, can you believe it? We have to spend a whole ruddy hour in this room next to the library. It's to make sure we do our homework." He flopped back against the headboard with a huff.

He turned his head, meeting her eyes. "I think we have prep together, today."

"Okay." she croaked.

"I met your Hufflepuffs, Felix and Jennings. Felix sat next to me in Transfiguration. Did you know none of the Hufflepuffs like him? Or Jennings? Isn't that odd?"

She noted how he used Felix's first name, but stuck to calling Kit _Jennings._

"You don't like Kit." Talking was easier than she thought. The words linked themselves together on their own, and she could say them safely behind her bubble, disconnected.

He opened his mouth, hesitating. "She's a bit _much._" A pause. "But, I mean, she seems nice."

A choked little sound that might've been a laugh made its way past her lips.

Fuck, she was so glad it had been a _Slytherin_ Initiation that put them all out in that forest. It could've been her, Colin, and her Hufflepuffs out there. She might've lost someone she _liked._

And like a soap bubble popping, she buried her head in her hands, tears filling her eyes.

An arm reached around her back, hugging her from behind. She sagged into it.

Colin was a shitty hugger.

He _leaned_ on her, heavy and squishing her shoulder. She was already slumped down on the bed, which was the only reason he was tall enough to manage it.

She hiccuped twice, wiping her snotty nose on her arm.

Something cardboard knocked against her leg. She blinked away the moisture in her eyes.

Tissues. He was handing her a box of tissues.

"Thanks." her voice was scratchier than before.

She elbowed him lightly in the ribs. He took the message and leaned back. The tissue box went on her lap.

"You don't have to talk about it." he said.

"I don't want to." she confirmed.

"Okay." he nodded, "we can just sit or— I don't have anyplace to be until Potions."

She blew her nose, then wiped her eyes with the not-gross part of the tissue.

"You like Felix?" she asked, picking up the earlier thread of their conversation.

"He's an honest sort of bloke. Upright, you know?"

"He—" _doesn't like me and I don't know why._ She brought enough negativity to their friendship, already. Enough negativity and he wouldn't want to be her friend, anymore.

People didn't like it when other people brought up unhappy things. If Mallory kept talking about death and how kids didn't like her, Colin would eventually associate Mallory with bad feelings.

He wouldn't want to see her anymore because she'd only remind him of things that made him sad.

Moreover, she didn't want to keep telling him about all the people who _didn't_ like her. Colin might start to wonder if Mallory had done something mean to them.

"What?" he was staring at her, confused.

"Nevermind."

Colin cocked his head to the side, and Mallory blinked hard, a new wave of nausea hitting her. She looked back at the empty bed. The way he tilted his head reminded her of Rowle's—

"You got in a fight on broomsticks." His voice was a little softer. "I heard about it." Mallory raised her estimation of his sense of tact, again.

"Yeah, 350 points." Lost, and some Slytherin seventh years wanted to off her. Was that even true?

"Well," he folded his arms behind his neck. "Guess who's house is winning the cup this year?"

She let out a bark of laughter, "not Slytherin?"

"On the bright side, means you can get into all sorts of trouble now, and no one'll get mad 'coz you've got a snowball's chance in hell of winning the cup, anyway."

She glanced back at him. Colin was grinning, though the grin still wasn't _quite_ reaching his eyes. Pretending, still. For her.

Her heart warmed a little, at that.

"Squint like the sun's in your eyes." she said, studying his face.

The fake smile morphed into real confusion. "What?"

"Do the smile again, but this time make your eyes scrunch a little." She tucked one of her legs back under her chin, displacing the tissue box and snotty tissues.

His face fell, like he'd been slapped. Another misstep. _Damnit_.

"I'm not _faking_—"

"It helped." she said, "it helps that you're trying to make me feel better."

Diffusing it before it could become an argument.

He nodded, fingers twitching awkwardly like he was— oh. She was still staring at his face. He must feel like he was under a microscope. She looked away.

"I didn't mean to—" he started, hesitant.

"You were _helping._ It's _fine._ I was trying to—" she met his eyes again. "I was trying to help, too?"

"Help?" his face scrunched in confusion.

"You were distracting me from—" she took a breath, "and that's good. But if you want to be convincing, you have to smile with your eyes. It doesn't look real if the eyes don't scrunch a little." She firmly skirted past the part of her brain that reminded her of what she was distracting herself _from._

She continued, "if you want to get better at making people feel better, in the future, it works better when people can't tell you're pretending."

"_Oh._" he said, and then tried smiling again, only he was self-conscious about it now and his ears were turning red.

Mallory snorted.

"What? That was bad, too?" the indignation hit the mark and she giggled.

He made an outrageously silly face, eyes scrunched like he was being blinded by sunlight, a smile that showed too many teeth.

He spoke through it, words slurred, "Sshlike sshthish?"

She outright laughed. "Better," she said around a giggle. "totally a realistic grin."

His expression changed from grinning to serious in a second. "You have odd hobbies, you know that?"

"Sure," she said, shrugging with the shoulder Colin wasn't holding hostage. "My best friend taught me that."

"The one you were writing that letter to?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "I was—" _thinking about him the other night._ She steered away from the thought. The Initiation and What Followed was like a mass with gravity, pulling her towards it every time she stopped paying attention.

Danny's reply letter was still in her hands, and she folded it in half. Didn't want someone reading it and seeing that a muggle knew about Hogwarts.

Telling him broke the Statute of Secrecy. It was a testament to her skill as a liar that the auror didn't ask about the illegal things she was hiding.

"You were..?" he trailed off. Waiting for her to fill in the gaps.

Right, they were talking about the other night.

"My head keeps going back to the forest, you know, and it's like—" hard to talk about it without _thinking about it_, "bad. It's bad. So—"

"You want me to distract you?"

"Yeah." she breathed out.

"I told you about Harry Potter arriving in a flying car." He stated more than he asked.

"Yeah."

"Gosh darnit, okay." He stopped for a moment to think, "So I found out who his friends are. The smartest girl at Hogwarts, and the twins' younger brother."

"Fred and George's brother?" she twisted her head to look at him again.

"Yeah, the ones from the train. And you want to know what the best part is? The smartest girl at Hogwarts is a muggleborn _and_ a Gryffindor."

There was a note of defensiveness in his tone, centered around the word _muggleborn._ Someone had teased him about his blood, in her absence.

"And she's Potter's best friend?" she asked, sounding more normal than she felt.

"Yeah, I already said that." Colin grinned. "She's not really _girly_, though."

Mallory raised an eyebrow. "Okay?"

Was he saying that he thought it was weird that a girl and a boy were best friends? But that it was okay because Harry Potter had a girl best friend, too? Mallory didn't think it was odd at all, and was quite confused about why he thought so.

"I mean, in the same way you're not girly. You don't wear bows in your hair or—" his eyes widened. "Oh."

"What?"

"She was the girl with the ribbons in her hair, at your table. The blonde."

Her blood turned to ice, caught off-guard.

"Sorry!" he backpedaled. "Sorry, anyway, I meant it as a good thing. The girls at my old school, they all were sort of frilly and they didn't make _sense._"

She struggled to switch gears from _the forest_ to find some indignation. "Girls don't make sense?" Her tone failed to achieve the sarcastic drawl that line deserved.

"That's not what I meant! I mean, it's just, they're dainty and don't like— they wear _perfumes!_"

Mallory made a face, and rolled her eyes.

"They do girl-things!" Colin continued, ears red and face blotchy.

"I _will_ punch you in the nose." Mallory said.

Colin made a garbled noise in the back of his throat, and grabbed his bag.

"What?" Mallory said, eyes narrowed.

He withdrew a lump of black robes, wrinkled and squashed, from his bag.

"Fred and George asked me to give them to you. They have your robes, for some reason?" It was a pathetic attempt at changing the subject, to avoid being socked in the nose.

"They're putting protection charms on my trunk, coz—" _Rowle burnt it._ "because it got burnt."

"Holy smokes! Someone burnt it? Why?"

He didn't even stop to think it might've been burned on accident. Either he already knew her too well to be fooled, or he guessed she was a regular target of bullies.

Neither of those scenarios were ideal.

"Slytherins aren't too keen on muggleborns." Again, she was drawing the attention away from targeted bullying. This was an attack on _both_ of them, not just on her.

She watched his face twitch with some repressed emotion. Yep, some bully was getting their arse kicked straight into the Hospital Wing.

"So they burnt your trunk?" His tone was laced with incredulity and horror.

"Yeah." Mallory fiddled with her robes. The twins even thought to include a pair of trousers and a jumper. She felt sort of weird that they went through her underthings and picked out her clothes, but then it was an unusual situation.

Luckily, her bag was by her hospital bed from the other night, when she ended up back in the hospital wing after falling off her broom.

"Are you coming to class?" Colin asked.

Mallory picked up her bag, leaning halfway off the bed to grab it without having to get up. She tucked Danny's letter inside her notebook, and checked to make sure her wand was there. She took a deep breath.

She spent all last night thinking about it, putting off making a decision.

Mallory wasn't stupid. The killer might strike at any moment.

Hogwarts was dangerous, and there very well may not be another chance to leave. All it would take was a letter home to her mum and dad. If they found out she was being hunted by a child-killer, they'd want her home immediately.

_Someone tried to kill me for being muggleborn. Another girl was murdered, too._

But who was she kidding?

It'd take maybe a week and a number of letters back and forth between the professors, her parents, and Mallory. They wouldn't just send her home the moment she requested it. Leaving school wasn't _Mallory's_ choice to make, it was her parents'. And her parents would want to speak to the professors to make sure Mallory wasn't telling tall tales.

Mr. and Mrs. Hopkins were _assured_ Hogwarts was the safest place in the world for their daughter. All the shopkeepers her parents met in Diagon Alley raved about how wonderful Hogwarts was— how _safe_ it was because Albus Dumbledore was the Headmaster.

Then Mallory sends them a letter with an outrageous story about a student being brutally murdered in front of her, and how the murderer was now targeting Mallory.

They'd want a second opinion.

Not necessarily because they wouldn't believe Mallory, but they'd assume Mallory only had part of the big picture. Maybe a student was murdered, but the target wasn't _their_ baby daughter. Or maybe Mallory _believed_ a student was murdered, but someone was playing a mean joke on her.

They couldn't take a child's word for it, especially if it turned out that it was all a big joke. Dad would be embarrassed, and there were so _few_ stories of little children being murdered in schools. That _couldn't_ be what really happened, they'd reason.

Her parents would want to convene with the other adults to get the full story. And that would take time, a lot of it. Letters, meetings, and more meetings after those meetings.

And while the adults were in meetings, Darla Rowle's murderer would strike again, killing Mallory.

Getting expelled would take a lot less time. If the murderer's goal was to get her out of Hogwarts, any means necessary, Mallory would very much prefer to leave alive.

She was tempted to start lighting tapestries on fire until the Headmaster agreed to expel her.

She might win, she might get to go home. The school was a madhouse and Mallory almost _died_. Magic wasn't worth that.

But there was a cost to leaving, the same cost that had her _terrified_ when Snape threatened to expel her, earlier.

Her wand would be snapped and she would be banned from ever using magic, again. She'd never get to be a superhero, and her family wouldn't be safe. Mallory knew that by the time she graduated from Hogwarts, she'd be able to cast spells to heal major injuries.

If her parents or Danny were ever hurt, as a witch she could do something about it. And Mallory wanted to be able to help more people than just her parents and Danny. A witch who was sympathetic to normal people and their plights could do _a lot_ of good.

But there was a murderer, here. And that murderer, they wanted Mallory gone.

She would die if she stayed.

If she died, she'd _also_ never get to be a superhero, with the bonus of not getting to live, either. Her family would be just as vulnerable, but with the added tragedy of losing their only daughter.

She couldn't help anyone if she was dead. Even a muggle-Mallory could do more good than a wand-wielding corpse.

But if the murderer was caught in a day, or if it turned out that Mallory wasn't a target of the killer, then she'd be throwing away her chance to be a superhero for nothing.

"Which class is it?" Mallory asked.

"Potions." Colin said.

If Mallory decided to stay, she'd need to go to class to learn magic. If Mallory decided to get herself expelled, then pissing off Snape was the easiest way to go about it.

Either case required her to go to class.

"I need to close the curtain to get changed." she said.

Colin shrugged, and stepped off the bed and shut the curtain for her. She could barely see his outline through the thick fabric.

"What are people saying?" she asked, as she shucked off the hospital gown. It was more like an old-fashioned nightdress than a proper hospital gown.

"There's just rumors." Colin's voice was muffled through the curtain. "Dumbledore was missing at breakfast, and all yesterday. Snape was gone for half the day, and Harper. And so was— well, you know. Everyone's making up stories."

Mallory shoved on her jeans, slipping her feet into sneakers. The twins forgot socks, but she'd manage.

She'd have to get the trunk back from them, if she decided to leave.

"What kind of stories?"

"All sorts." He sounded uncomfortable.

Shirt on, all she had to do was put on her robe and she was ready to go.

"I'm going to find out anyway," Mallory said. "And if it's bad, I want to be prepared."

"It's not bad. A lot of people saw you fall off your broomstick on Wednesday. So most don't think you're involved. So outside us—"

"And Slytherin." Mallory interrupted. "They were there for some of it."

"Okay, then outside that, no one knows you're involved. They know _something_ happened, and rumor is some first years vanished in the middle of the night. They're making up stories about why the first years are gone— that they flew off on a dragon or were kidnapped by merpeople. But a few, and it's just a few, they're saying that you and this girl got in another fight, and that she was hurt so bad she had to be shipped off to a hospital."

"Did any of the Slytherins say anything?"

"No, or at least, not where I heard."

She glanced out the window, at the far-off forest. It felt unreal. She guessed Snape gave the Slytherins the same speech he gave her and Harper on not telling people about what happened.

"Are you decent?" asked Colin.

"Yeah."

He poked his head in, "so, you're coming to class?"

"Yeah." She took a deep breath and sat on the edge of the bed. She felt like she wanted to throw up.

A side effect of considering whether or not she ought to _light a teacher's robes on fire or otherwise create a ruckus._

"Okay," he gave her a dubious look, "are you hungry?" he asked.

Mallory narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

"I brought a biscuit from breakfast. If you don't want it, I'm eating it."

She held out her hand, palm facing the ceiling. He deposited a buscuit wrapped in a napkin, and she grinned.

"You're the best."

_She wouldn't be able to beat up bullies for him._ He'd have to deal with them on his own, and she felt some guilt over that.

There was another angle to this she hadn't considered.

"Can I ask you something?" Mallory took a bite of biscuit while Colin sat down next to her.

What if her decision here had larger implications?

What if choosing to run away from Hogwarts developed into a pattern of running away from scary situations? She didn't want to become _unheroic_, and Mallory already acted unheroic at the Initiation Ceremony.

What if she ended up turning into a villain?

"Sure." said Colin.

"You've read comic books, yeah?"

"A few, why?"

"What do you think the X-men would do if they had a choice between doing something scary and doing _another_ scary thing, and there wasn't an easy way to pick which one they ought to do?"

"Er, well," Colin glanced at her, brow furrowed. "that's sort of vague."

She didn't want to tell him about it in detail, largely because she wasn't sure how he would react. If she told him she was planning on running away, he might decide that he'd miss her, and demand she stay. He might not even realize how much danger she was in, and go tell a Professor that she was planning on doing something stupid to get herself expelled.

In that case, she'd have to escalate far beyond her comfort zone in order to convince the Professors to expel her. It wouldn't do to have a student _win_, after all. Expelling her would then be framed as _giving the rebellious child what she wants._

"I— okay. Imagine you're someone who wants to do something heroic. But first you have to do this other thing, but the other thing is _really_ dangerous, so you decide to run away, instead. Can you still be a hero if you run away?"

"Heroes do dangerous things all the time, though. That's their job, isn't it?"

Mallory slumped in her seat.

"Maybe I'm just not ready to be a hero, yet." She was only eleven, after all.

"There'll always be a reason not to be a hero, I guess." said Colin. He was giving her a rather concerned look, like he was spying a confusing puzzle.

He was right, though. She could use that excuse until she was a hundred and eleven years old. There'd always be a reason to avoid danger, and a real hero didn't run away from the threat of death. That's what made them extraordinary. Mallory always thought that _she_ was born to be a hero.

It was _just what you did_ when you were born with superpowers.

But Mallory wasn't living in a story. Life didn't have a plot, and even if it did Mallory wouldn't be the main character. She was able to die, and no mysterious last-hour miracle would save her if she messed up and made the wrong choice.

"But what if your excuse is a real reason? An extra-special reason."

"Then, well, you'd have to promise that this'll be the only exception. Otherwise you'll keep finding reasons to avoid being heroic."

Which was in line with what Mallory was thinking. Only, she could imagine finding a dozen loopholes in that rule. Almost any situation could be twisted into an exception if she tried hard enough.

"I don't know if that'll work." Mallory said.

"Okay, maybe we're going about it the wrong way. Er— when do you think you'll be ready to be a hero?"

He didn't say it like he was humoring her. When Mallory told her parents she wanted to be a hero, they patted her head and told her that was sweet, but naive. Even _Danny_ thought her ambition was idealistic. Colin acted like it was a perfectly ordinary thing to want to be a hero when she grew up.

In that moment, he was possibly the best person in the world.

"I don't know." Because she didn't. The comic books showed training montages and solemn vows to protect people, but they didn't give her a clear idea of what she needed to be a hero.

"We _are_ eleven. I think we can try to be heroic now, though." Colin frowned. "We can speak up if we see someone being picked on, or help other students with their homework. It's not _fun_, but it'd be the right thing to do."

That wasn't what she meant, but he had a point.

"Okay, but—" she broke off. "What if you have the option to put yourself in a lot of danger, er— but one day, because you did, you might be a _real_ hero. The sort in comic books. But if you try, you'll likely end up dying before you ever get the chance to be a real hero, and if you decide to do something easier, instead, you can still be heroic, but it won't be as cool."

And Mallory thought right as she said it, that once she put it that way, the answer seemed rather obvious. There were good reasons to to run away, and being murdered by Rowle's killer wasn't a heroic death. She wouldn't save anyone, dying that way.

It wasn't jumping in front of a bullet to save mum or Danny. It wasn't even like jumping in front of a cutting charm aimed at Colin. Nothing would be gained, and her life might be lost.

"I'm being stupid, aren't I?"

"Confusing, more like. I thought we were talking about imaginary people. You really want to be a hero?"

Before she could reply, the nurse bustled into the room, effectively killing the conversation.

"Miss Hopkins!" said Nurse Pomfrey. "I see you're up and about."

"Sorry?" It took her a moment to switch mental gears from _serious conversation with Colin_ to _greeting adults._

"No no, that's good. I have two potions for you this morning."

"Two?"

"_This_ one heals mental wounds, and this one you're to keep on you." She held out two vials, the second one being significantly smaller than the first.

"Mental wounds?"

"The memories will fade faster, dear."

Mallory nodded, glad for it. She didn't _want_ to remember.

"What about the second?"

"Calming potion, only enough for today. If you feel a bout of panic or nerves, you take it. If you need more, you'll need to come to the Hospital Wing."

"Alright." Mallory nodded.

The first potion tasted disgusting. The second she slipped into the pocket of her jeans, under her robe.

"Er—" Colin said, once the nurse was gone. "I think we need to start walking if we want to make it to potions on time."

"Okay," said Mallory, "Do you remember the way to the Potion's classroom?"

* * *

She was fixing her hair while they walked. The twins hadn't thought to include a brush, which meant she had to use her fingers. The ends were all sticking up and it needed a wash.

They were walking down a corridor that Colin believed lead to the potions classroom, but her mind wasn't on directions.

She wanted to pick up their conversation from before, but it'd be awkward to bring it up again. Colin might start to think something was really wrong. More wrong than a student dying in the woods, even.

Moreover, Mallory had come to a decision. She was going to leave Hogwarts, because _not having magic_ wouldn't impede her ambition to become a hero. She could become a doctor or volunteer at hospitals. She could even get really rich doing something boring and buy cancer-curing potions for muggles.

Being a hero didn't mean flying in tights and stopping robberies, even if that was glamorous and dramatic.

Speaking of that, she had to ask Colin something. She had to ask him, because he was her friend and that's what friends did. Even if he started to associate her with bullying and unhappiness.

"Has someone been saying mean things to you?" she asked, as they passed a shivering statue that was rubbing its hands together for warmth with awful scriiiiiitch sounds.

Colin glanced over, expression closing off in a frown. "What?"

"About being a muggleborn." Mallory caught his eye. "Has someone been picking on you?"

"No," Colin said.

She wasn't sure if he was lying or not. But before in the hospital wing, he was defensive about Potter's best friend being a muggleborn. It was as though he was saying *well, she's a muggleborn! So there!"

"Did someone tell you muggleborns weren't clever at magic?"

He picked up the pace, arms folded across his chest. "No."

"If someone is, you punch them in the nose, alright?"

He glanced back at her. "No one's bothering me."

"But someone might in the _future_, and—" she took a breath. "Nevermind, sorry."

It didn't matter, in the long run. Colin wasn't the first muggleborn in Gryffindor. He wasn't going to be murdered in a forest if she didn't warn him.

And after today, she'd likely never see him again.

* * *

The door to the potions classroom was propped open with a chair.

Mallory felt her steps falter, even with the calming potion running through her veins.

Colin squeezed her shoulder, trailing behind her.

Her eyes took in the scene, mind switching into gear. This was her playing field, the realm of strategy. Even better, this was her chance to create a _combustion._

There were five rows of wooden workbenches, two abreast. At the front of the classroom was the teacher's demonstration table, where a cauldron was already set up and bubbling.

Professor Snape was nowhere to be found.

The Slytherin first years were clustered together, and they all looked up when Mallory and Colin passed through the door.

Mallory gestured at two seats in the back, and she and Colin sat down without a word. Her classmates returned to their conversations, though a couple were still watching Mallory.

Word hadn't gotten around the castle about Rowle's death, yet. Colin said as much.

But Montague visited Harper last night, so Slytherin House had to know what happened, even if the rest of the school was still in the dark.

Could she use that? How were the first years handling the news?

The Slytherins looked tensed and confused. It was first thing in the morning and their side of the classroom was filled with nervous gestures and narrowed eyes.

Their expressions were tight, angry and afraid.

Out of the corner of her eye she spotted movement. It was the girl Mallory called Cokebottles.

She was marching up to Mallory's workbench, lips downturned and muscles tense. The candlelight was glinting off of Cokebottle's cokebottle glasses. Several Slytherins stopped what they were doing to watch, heads following her as she walked to the back of the classroom.

"Where's Rowle?" she said, once she stood in front of Mallory's desk, foot almost touching her bookbag.

Oh god.

Cokebottle's voice trembled. "Harper won't say, but you're going to tell me."

Oh god, she didn't know.

"Montague," Mallory cleared her throat. "He— I thought Harper told—" she shook her head. Couldn't get the words out, brain struggling to switch tracks from cold _strategy_ to this. Being comforting to someone who just lost a friend.

Cokebottles faced Montague, head twisting so fast Mallory thought she'd get whiplash. He ducked down in his seat, shoulders hunched and ears red.

"You know where Rowle is?" she rounded on him, stepping away from Mallory's desk to loom over the boy.

Fuck. Mallory felt a pang of empathy for him. He wore the look of someone facing their worst fear.

"I really shouldn't," said Montague. "I promised I wouldn't."

"You _really_ should." hissed Cokebottles, wand clenched in her fist.

His eyes were flicking between Cokebottle's face and the wand, hands fumbling with his quill like he didn't know what to do with it.

The Gryffindors, half asleep and struggling with a severe case of bed-head, were catching onto the mood. Their foreheads were furrowed, lips twisting into frowns. Confusion. A couple boys glanced between each other and shrugged. _Do you know what's going on? Me neither._

The Slytherin side was no better.

Hoop Boy, who was sitting at the bench in front of Mallory, was inching down in his seat. He was caught between Montague and Cokebottles, and obviously didn't want to be there.

"Tell me where she is!" Cokebottles demanded.

"I can't. I promised." said Montague.

In that moment, Mallory admired him. It was easier, now, because she didn't consider him her problem anymore. She was leaving, and his previous behavior was rendered irrelevant by that decision.

Montague was a rotten bully, sure. But he was loyal. He was scared of Cokebottles, _Mistress Slicer of Flesh_ from the Slytherin Initiation. But he was holding his own out of loyalty to his fallen allies.

Harper was a wreck, Rowle was dead. Montague was sitting alone at his own bench. He had no other friends or allies in Slytherin. Now was the time to try to gain some advantage, get new allies so he wasn't left out in the cold as friendships solidified.

Yet he was keeping his promise to Harper, even though he could gain social capital by telling his yearmates what happened.

Loyalty.

Someone started snickering, and Mallory's eyes flicked from Cokebottles and Montague to the source.

Dead-eyes Selwyn.

He was leaning on his workbench, arms casually at his side, grinning like he just skinned a cat.

"You're a disgrace, Montague. Cowering before a half-blood?" Selwyn's lips were quirked up, eyes glinting with enjoyment.

Montague stood up, wood scraping the stone floor. "What did you say?" His face was beet red, fists clenched and brow furrowed with fury.

"That's not even the worst part. I saw you grovelling at Rowle's feet," Selwyn took a step forward into Montague's space, "_Oh Rowle can I fetch your books for you? Do you need your arse wiped?_ And then, with Harper? Merlin, I thought I was about to puke. A pureblood taking orders from a half-wizard. What a joke."

"Harper's my _friend._ Piss off." Montague glared.

"Your friend? Don't make me laugh. He's got one foot in the door and the other out, like the rest of his kind."

"You—" Montague started, only to be interrupted.

"Shut it." said Cokebottles, wand pointed at Selwyn's nose. "You shut it or I'll _make_ you shut it."

Mallory stood up, lightly tugging Colin's sleeve so he would, too. If it came down to a fight, the two of them needed to be able to move.

"Says the other half blood. Of course _you_ speak up. I understand how hard it must be for you, faced with the harsh truth."

"I'll cut your bloody face open." Cokebottles wand was almost _touching_ Selwyn's face, but the boy only looked amused.

"Oh will you?" Selwyn laughed. "I wouldn't. Don't forget how I made that mudblood scream the other night."

Hoop Boy, who had so far remained silent, spoke. His tone was dry and sardonic. "Yes, Selwyn, why don't you tell the whole class how you make little girls scream."

"Want me to make you scream, too?" asked Selwyn. "I've gotten quite good at those spells. What do you say?"

Hoop Boy snorted. "Me? I say somebody better call St. Mungo's before it's too late. They'll lock you up nice and safe in the Janus Thickey Ward where you belong."

Selwyn's eyes lit up like he was possessed, knuckles gone white with how tightly he squeezed his wand.

"Say that again." His voice was dangerous and low.

"Going to show me your crystal casket, Selwyn?" sniggered Hoop Boy.

In that moment, a number of things happened. Selwyn flicked his wand, and Mallory dove forwards, grabbing Hoop Boy's collar to shove him down. The spell fluffed her hair as it whipped past, hitting a bookshelf with a crash.

Vaisey was mid-syllable through the cutting spell when Montague tugged her by the arm, disrupting her casting.

"STOP!" Montague's face was beet red. "This isn't the time for fighting!" He looked between Cokebottles and Hoop Boy.

Selwyn was ignored because no one thought they could convince him to back down.

Mallory and Montague were the only two who knew Rowle was dead. Which reminded her of her game plan, to cause a combustion. This situation, here, was like ten barrels of petrol sitting next to a bomb.

All she had to do was light the fuse.

"You're a real sicko, Selwyn." Mallory said, pushing herself off of her workbench to stand up.

"Need I remind you what I'm capable of, mudblood?" asked Selwyn.

There wasn't time to think it through, no time to debate on the best way to do it. She had to go with the first idea to pop into her head.

"So it was you." Mallory lied. She widened her eyes a tad, faking a hitch in her throat. "You're the one that tried to kill us in the forest. You're the one who murdered Rowle."

A pin could've dropped.

Immediately after she said it, she wanted to take it back. Some part of Mallory's brain was still imagining what it must be like for Cokebottles, to spend a whole day wondering what happened to her friend.

Aurors and professors were running around like madmen but _no one would tell Cokebottles what was going on._ They'd give her pitying looks every time she asked, and her anxiety would mount as each minute ticked past with no answers.

Now she finds out her worst fears are realized, and that her friend's murderer is standing right in front of her.

Mallory couldn't falter, though. The die was already cast.

She put her energy into pretending to be the little girl who believed Dead-Eyes Selwyn was the murderer. She backed up, wand in hand. Her face twisted in horror as she drew on the feeling of being _terrified._

Selwyn stopped grinning and frowned, confused. "Rowle's dead?"

Students around them gawked, crowding in closer to see the spectacle.

"Bullshit." said Montague, ruining Mallory's plot. "Harper didn't say anything about _that._"

"He did it." Mallory said, before she realized that she didn't _need_ to convince everyone it was true. All she needed to do was start a fight.

"_Incendio!_" Mallory shouted, firing straight at Selwyn's head.

It missed and Mallory didn't even have time to swear. Selwyn returned fire, spell flinging her into a shelf of potion bottles. She was blown off her feet and landed in an undignified heap.

Mallory groaned from her spot on the ground. Fuck, she must've flown back a full meter into those shelves. Her back was aching and there were cuts on her arms where broken glass pierced skin. Foul smelling fluid was seeping into her robes and there were chunks of vitrified critters sticking to her clothes.

Colin dove to her side, grabbing her arm and shoving her to the side as glass smashed into the ground where her head was a second ago.

She scrambled to her feet, attention fixed on Selwyn. Selwyn, who was now squaring off against Cokebottles. Mallory didn't even want to look at Colin's face. She didn't know what he was thinking and she didn't _want_ to know.

"Did you kill Rowle?" Cokebottle's voice waivered.

"Are you _stupid?_" hissed Selwyn, "who are you to _dare_—"

Cokebottles fired off one of her signature cutting charms, nicking Selwyn's arm and tearing a chunk out of his desk. He immediately retaliated with his lightning spell, but Cokebottles was too fast and twisted out of the way.

"Stop it, all of you!" Hoop boy was now standing, putting himself between Cokebottles and Selwyn. "We have to set this classroom back to rights _now_. Snape will be here any moment."

Mallory took that as her cue. "You're worried about house points? Selwyn killed Rowle and you're worried we're losing _points?_" she said it with just the right amount of disbelief, the exact sort of thing someone would say if their classmate murdered someone and everyone was fussing over _points._

"Selwyn didn't kill Rowle." said Hoop Boy. "He _can't_ have because he was cowering—"

"I'm no nithing—"

"—_cowering_ by the professors, looking like a right sorry little piece of—"

"_Incendio!_" Mallory replied, aiming for Selwyn. The more _unreasonable_ she appeared, the more likely they were to expel her.

The spell didn't do anything but billow smoke out the end of her wand, and Colin started coughing. A few students giggled.

Suddenly, everyone froze. The giggling, muttering, and twitchy movements of the students ceased. And all attention turned to the door.

Mallory turned, and saw the glowering form of Professor Snape, leering down at her. His beady eyes were narrowed into slits of rage.

_Right,_ she thought to herself, _I wanted him angry._

* * *

_Nithing_ is very old slang for a wimp/coward.


	11. The Cracklewood Carver Part 2

"Miss Vaisey, Mr. Selwyn, and anyone else with their wands out," spat Snape. "You have all earned yourselves detention, _for a week_."

"But Professor!" said Cokebottles, "the mud— _she_ says Selwyn killed Rowle!"

"No he didn't! He couldn'tve!" argued Hoop Boy.

Snape whirled on her, and if his glare could kill, she'd be dead nine times over.

"You disrespectf—"

"It wasn't her fault!" exclaimed Colin, "Selwyn told everyone he _tortured_ Mallory."

"Enough!" Snape shouted. "You will be silent, and you will _behave!_"

The students visibly deflated, shrinking back from Snape's towering rage.

"Mr. Creevey, twenty points from Gryffindor, for encouraging this madness." Snape then vanished the contents of the broken jars, scattered across the floor.

Mallory _seethed_. Colin hadn't done anything wrong! He hadn't fired off any spells, nor had he encouraged the fight.

"But—" Mallory started.

"Silence!" Snape thundered.

Dumbledore wouldn't let Snape expel her for being disrespectful. Worse, speaking out wouldn't convince Snape to change his mind.

The students were ordered to sit down, and Snape chose their seats to separate the troublemakers.

Of course, that meant Colin wasn't seated next to her.

"Since you're so determined to be a snake, Mr. Creevey, you may sit next to young Mr. Selwyn." hissed Snape.

She glanced over at Colin to express her sympathy, but he wasn't looking in her direction.

After class, she'd have to speak with him to make sure he was okay. Colin's shoulders were drawn in together. Tense.

If he believed Selwyn murdered Rowle, then it was unsurprising he was nervous.

She sat next to Hoop Boy, behind Selwyn and Colin. Selwyn snickered, and Colin flinched.

Mallory wanted to reach over her desk and strangle him.

Frowning at her workbench, Mallory eyed the scorch marks and mottled texture while she thought.

She overplayed her hand and the plan failed. Built-up anger fizzled into confusion with both Hoop Boy and Montague muddying the waters.

Worse, her plan was sloppy. She let Montague and Harper build momentum, throw doubt all over the flames she was trying to fan. She _floundered._

This, more than the freak-outs and constant anxiety, had her concerned for her health. She wasn't _dealing,_ potion unable to mask the ball of emotion eating at her attention. The fear and memories stole mental real estate, slowing her down when she needed her mind most.

She couldn't let that stop her, though. The killer wouldn't leave her alone because she was having a _rough day._

"Today we will begin lab by reviewing the most basic applications of potion-making. Something not even you dunderheads are capable of spoiling."

He spoke like a student hadn't just died two days ago.

He spoke like a piece of garbage.

This was a tense classroom. Half of the students afraid and angry. If she wanted to draw parallels to The Slytherin Initiation, where that crowd was bloodthirsty, this crowd was _terrified._

She just had to figure out how she could use that terror. And to do that, she had to get the measure of her classmates.

The more she knew about her enemies, the better she could predict their actions.

"Miss Vaisey, could you tell the class the most important step in creating any potion?"

Cokebottles shifted in her seat, and spoke. "Preparation of ingredients."

"Correct."

Cokebottles, who's real name was Vaisey, was a refined young lady. She was polished and self-possessed. _School_ was her element, if Mallory had to guess.

Cokebott— _Vaisey_ and her friend were sitting in the front row.

The other girl looked familiar. _Oh,_ she was the one that kept casting the cleaning charm during the Slytherin initiation*.

Cleaning-charm girl's head bowed down. Meek. She was avoiding both Snape's gaze, and the gaze of her friend. When she turned her head, Mallory saw her cheeks were pink. And the girl kept worrying her robes between her fingers, a nervous habit.

During the brief fight before Snape entered the room, Cleaning-charm girl hid under the workbench. She was also the only Slytherin who hadn't participated in the Battle on the Pitch. Mallory guessed the girl was afraid of fighting.

Cokebott—_Vaisey_ for contrast, had her books neatly laid out on her workbench, ink bottle uncorked. Her back was straight and her hand was poised over a sheaf of parchment, quill at the ready.

But she also kept glancing back at the door, waiting for Harper to walk on through.

Upset about her friend, distracted, but she still had the presence of mind to prepare for class. Cared enough about school that Rowle's murder wasn't enough to dim her vigor.

A hitch in that theory: Olive Vaisey participated in the Battle on the Pitch. If she was vying for the position of _teacher's pet_, she was doing a terrible job of it.

Snape reached the front of the classroom, twirling to face the class with a dramatic flair of his long billowing cloak. The sallow man glared at them each in turn, spidery fingers clenched around his wand.

There was a long moment of silence, with the class collectively holding its breath. It drew her attention away from plotting her own expulsion.

"Do you think I'm a fool?" his voice was a mere whisper, though everyone heard him.

She wondered what would happen if she back-chatted him. _I think you're as clever as a clogged toilet._ Except that would only get her a detention.

He'd maintain control of the narrative, restrain her actions and grind his crummy heel into her plan.

Mallory wondered whether Farley, that terrifying prefect from The Slytherin Initiation, learned drama from Snape.

Because he was clearly enjoying himself.

It showed in the way the man was acting, the flair of his cloak and the sinister stroking of his wand. He _wanted_ them scared, maybe to serve some purpose but predominantly because he enjoyed their fear.

He was taking in the students' wide eyes of confusion and terror, letting it simmer before...

"I advise you all not to delude yourselves into believing I will permit slackers in my classroom." Snape's eyes glinted with thinly-concealed glee.

"Blishwick, Urquart, Fetcher! Move to the front row." he pointed at the Gryffindors sitting in the back of the classroom. All the Gryffindors had crowded into the back few rows, as far from Snape as they could get.

Control.

The three Gryffindors gathered their things and slumped to the front of the class. Mallory felt a pang of sympathy for them.

Snape was a man that demanded control. The flair of robes and menacing tone? It was meant to scare them into compliance.

She also remembered how he sounded so _resigned_ around Dumbledore. A man used to being kicked around, took his power wherever he could get it.

That would be his weak point, the direction she should aim her scheme. It would have to be loud, messy, and completely break his control over the classroom. He'd _hate_ that. Moreover, it would have to be something Dumbledore wouldn't want to offer her a third chance over.

But Dumbledore was a harder nut to crack.

"First, we will begin discussing the difference between chopping, dicing, mincing, and grinding ingredients. I'm aware this is _remediary_ for most of you, but I have no intention of allowing students to use ignorance as an excuse for ineptitude."

Dear lord, he was such a dick.

Mallory glanced at Colin out the corner of her eye, but he still wasn't looking her way. Had he guessed she was lying to Cokebottles about Rowle's murderer? Or maybe he was angry she lost him points from Gryffindor.

"It is vital that the diced portions are evenly cut..."

She took her eyes off Colin and glanced to the side of the room. The preserved animals in their jars leered out at her, lidless eyes dead and vacant of expression.

Tensed, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the workbench. The potions kept her from feeling the kind of _intense_ fear she felt the other night.

She suspected without them, she'd throw up. Her stomach was churning and her hands curled into involuntary fists. A breath and she released the tension, rolling her shoulders to shake it off.

The cuts on her arms stung and her back ached, but she didn't want to go to the Hospital Wing.

Snape hadn't suggested she go to the Hospital Wing, even though she was bleeding from the broken glass.

She was still picking off bits of vitrified critters from her clothing, and her robes were damp and smelly. The meaty backs of her arms stung, and there might be shards of glass stuck in them.

In spite of that, Mallory was _grateful_ Snape hadn't suggested she go the Hospital Wing. It was the first nice thing he'd done for her, however unwittingly he'd done it.

Going there now meant going _alone_ while the majority of the school was in class.

It was the perfect time for Rowle's murderer to attack. _Strike when the target is isolated._

* * *

Fuck, plotting to misbehave was so much harder with Snape in the classroom. He was _scary_ and she could see any plot of her's having the impact of a wet noodle in the face of his _control._

She could just get up after class, grab her trunk, and walk out the front door of Hogwarts. Sure, she had no muggle money _and_ no idea where she was in Scotland. There was no road out here, for fuck's sake.

But she'd done it before.

Though, being penniless in Dartmoor with Danny was a different situation. They spent four hours in a strange city, after an adventure gone wrong. That was no where _near_ as dangerous as wandering through the wilds of Scotland while a murderer was on the loose.

Getting expelled was the quickest and surest way to get home.

At any time in any place, the murderer might come for her. She might not even see it coming, given how little she knew about magic.

Even if the murderer wasn't a Hogwarts student, she was _still_ in danger. Any of her classmates could be paid or tricked into dragging her off school grounds.

Heck, most of the Slytherins would do it for free, no threats necessary.

Her hesitation here was _stupid_. She was acting more afraid of ticking off her professor than she was of being _horribly murdered._

A piece of paper was slipped under her arm. It had been passed from Colin to Hoop Boy, who then passed it onto her.

Mallory unfolded the note, mindful of Snape's gaze.

_Are you okay?_

She flipped it over and wrote a message.

_I'll tell you later._

The note went back to Hoop Boy, who huffed and rolled his eyes.

She elbowed the boy, and he grudgingly tapped Colin's bench with his foot. Colin glanced back, then made to stretch, _coincidentally_ passing his hand across Hoop Boy's workbench, right where the note lay.

Colin met her eyes and nodded, tucking the note up his sleeve.

"We will first practice dicing flobberworms." said Snape.

She crinkled her nose. He _looked_ like a flobberworm.

Two flicks of Snape's wand and small knives for cutting ingredients were deposited on each workbench.

Colin was already starting to work on his flobberworm, but Mallory was thinking. And it was the sort of thought she'd usually shy away from, uncomfortable.

But what better way to get expelled than to start waving a knife around? She could pretend to want to hurt a student.

But if she _pretended_ like she was going to— well, Snape said she was a danger to her classmates. This would only validate his claim. And Dumbledore would be hard pressed to defend the _knife-wielding_ muggleborn.

Fuck, did she really want to do this?

She picked up the knife, weighing it in her hand. It had heft to it, a bit heavy, like a kitchen knife.

This was the sort of thing a hero definitely didn't do, even if they had a good reason for it.

In fact, it seemed like the sort of thing a villain would do, and Mallory didn't want to be a villain. Villains ended up in jail or languishing in the Phantom Zone.

But if she didn't do something now, she might keep putting it off. There'd be another excuse to delay taking action, and then another. And then she'd be dead. Because choosing to _wait_ gave her enemy more time to kill her.

But what if her first few ideas were stupid ones? Taking, say, one class to think through all her options likely wouldn't doom her. Spending all day and night dithering would.

Plus, Colin would _hate_ her for this. Her Hufflepuff friends would hate her, too. Sure, she'd never see them again, but it mattered to her what they thought.

That knowledge weighed on her decision more than she'd like to admit.

Mallory put the knife down onto the workbench, and took a breath.

Time to think.

A sidelong glance confirmed that Colin was focusing on his dicing. She picked up her own and began chopping half-heartedly at her flobberworm.

Snape, on the other hand, was prowling around the classroom, snapping at students for uneven cuts and sloppy dicing. One of the Gryffindor boys was feeling sorry for his flobberworm and didn't want to dice it up.

She paused in cutting the flobberworm. Her prop was unnecessary while Snape was busy ripping the boy a new one.

Pen in hand, she scribbled into her open notebook, next to the gutted flobberworm on the workbench.

She couldn't write full sentences, because Hoop Boy or Snape might look over her shoulder. So she resorted to using keywords and hoping they wouldn't piece it together.

_L. How? When?_

Expulsion was obvious, but what was stopping her from walking out the front door? Her brain reminded her that she was in the Scottish wilderness with no idea how to get back to civilization.

But that wasn't exactly true.

There was the train to consider. If she followed the tracks, she would eventually find civilization. It'd be a hike, but at the end of that road would be a police station. She didn't have muggle money, but a police officer would call her parents for her.

If she left right after classes ended, no one would notice until Monday morning. Once she actually _spoke_ to her parents, they'd agree that Mallory definitely ought to quit Hogwarts.

On the page she noted it down:

_Tracks to Pol._

The important bit was getting to her parents before anyone noticed she was missing. She wasn't sure how the school would take her impromptu escape. Would they send people after her on brooms?

Yet, Mallory liked this plan much better than her other ones. It didn't make her look like a raving lunatic. Also, it didn't cut her off from returning to Hogwarts if the murderer was caught in two days. She didn't think they'd expel her for running away because she was afraid of dying.

If she kept attacking students, they'd expel her. She couldn't undo that, but she could undo this.

"Mr. Avery," hissed Snape, "in which potion is flobberworm mucus primarily used?" "They're used to make flobberworm fritters?" said Hoop Boy, who's real name was apparently _Mr. Avery._

Mallory had trouble remembering names, and her brain stuttered for a moment as she reminded herself that _Cokebottles_ was Vaisey, and _Hoop Boy_ was Avery.

A couple students had the audacity to giggle, and Snape spun on them, yellow teeth bared in rage. The giggling stopped immediately.

Snape gave Avery one last fearsome glare, before spinning to face the Gryffindor side. "Miss Weasley, do you know the primary use of flobberworm mucus?"

"I— er—" a red haired girl with freckles turned as red as her hair. "Thickening potions?"

"Correct. Miss Vaisey, can you name another potion?"

"Wiggenweld potion, sir." came the girl's crisp reply.

"Correct, five points to Slytherin." Snape folded his hands behind his back. "Does anyone know what the wiggenweld potion does?"

Mallory didn't know the answers to any of these questions, but quite a few Slytherins did.

Selwyn, Vaisey, and Montague all raised their hands.

"Mr. Montague?"

"It wakes people from the draught of the living death."

"Another five points to Slytherin." Snape smiled at the Gryffindor side's outraged expressions.

Slimy git.

She had to wonder whether she was cut out for this, if she ended up staying at Hogwarts.

Everyone seemed to know what they were doing. Cokebott— _Vaisey_ knew all about wiggenstuff potions and flobberworms. She knew how to cast the cutting charm and many other spells.

Rowle and Harper both had private tutors before school even started.

Speaking of them, they both took potions that made their memories sharper. Mallory wasn't sure, but Harper couldn't be the only student taking memory potions.

The other muggleborns were in the same boat as Mallory, but that didn't do much to console her.

Complaining about how unfair it was didn't make the situation better. None of her excuses leveled the playing field. When Selwyn or Harper came looking for a fight, they'd pummel her. They wouldn't go easy on Mallory, just because she was ignorant.

It made her wonder if she could ever compete against them.

She also wondered whether she was choosing to leave out of fear of looking stupid. Failing all her classes would be infinitely worse than choosing to leave.

If Mallory was still in South Brent and the murder happened at her old primary school, would she demand her parents take out of school? Would she have trusted the adults, then, to protect her?

The thoughts swirled around her head as Potions Class went on.

* * *

They were in the hallway, walking from Potions class to Prep. It was their study period.

Unfortunately, the professor supervising them today was Snape. That meant they wouldn't be getting any help from said professor, only criticism.

Mallory and Colin were walking together, trailing after the main group of first years. She considered briefly whether she should skip Prep to sneak away while everyone was busy, but reconsidered.

Snape would notice she was missing, and would likely have someone look for her. A student _was_ just murdered. Another student vanishing would be noticed.

"Are you alright?" asked Colin, again.

"I'm okay." Mallory said, though it struck her as she said it, that if Colin believed that Mallory believed Selwyn murdered Rowle, then—

Then it would be strange for her not to be upset.

"I mean, I'm upset." corrected Mallory.

He eyed her face, contemplative. "You're thinking about something."

"Sort of?"

"You're thinking of doing something like what you're doing before, with that fight."

"I'm not—"

"No, no I know that look. I'm starting to figure out how you work. This is your _I'm about to do something bad_ look."

"I'm not planning on doing anything bad." Her tone was indignant, and she had to stop herself from crossing her arms across her chest.

Colin grabbed her hand and squeezed it. "If you _are_, though—"

At that moment came an unwelcome surprise, which was saying something. Mallory wanted almost any interruption. Except this one.

Cokebott— _Vaisey_ stood in front of them, blocking their path. She was gripping Montague's upper arm, dragging him with her to stare down Mallory and Colin.

"Is she really dead? He _still_ won't tell me," spoke Vaisey, cokebottle glasses glinting in the candlelight.

Avery, who'd been trailing a ways behind them, slowed his pace, presumably to listen in.

Fuck.

"I saw it." said Mallory, looking down and unable to meet Vaisey's eyes.

"And Selwyn was the one who did it?" her voice wobbled.

Cokebottles just lost her friend. The girl's friend was _murdered_ and—

"No. I— I might've been confused about that part."

"Confused? How can you be confused about it?"

"A lot happened. Everything's jumbled—" Mallory was interrupted.

"_Jumbled_?" hissed Vaisey, "how's it jumbled? I don't understand."

"I—" she stuttered, brain skipping and halting. "I was really scared, and he was saying all those things, and I thought—"

"So you _didn't_ see him kill Rowle?" choked Vaisey.

Mallory shook her head, eyes on the floor.

Colin dropped her hand like it was on fire, and Vaisey recoiled like she'd been slapped.

"What— _how could you do that?_"

"Because I— if he killed her, he might come after the rest of us, too. I thought if I called attention to it, if everyone knew, then he wouldn't be able to kill us."

That was a lie. Another lie, because the truth was terrible. And she didn't think her friendships would survive that revelation.

"Wow," said Avery, looking between her and Vaisey. "You're in both Vaisey's _and_ Selwyn's black book, now. Good job, mudblood." His tone was dry and sardonic.

"Why would you—" Colin started.

"Because he made all kinds of threats, Colin." her tone was pleading. "That's why—"

Avery interrupted her. "You know, Selwyn's not going to forgive you. He didn't kill Rowle, I saw him the whole time. But that doesn't mean he isn't dangerous. You lot don't know him, but I do. He's not right in the head."

"Thanks," said Colin. "but we've caught on, already. He doesn't hide his crazy well."

"He's a young Hannibal Lecter in training." Mallory said, shooting a sidelong glance at Colin.

He gave her a solemn look of disappointment.

"Who's Hannibal Lecter?" asked Avery.

"I— er, it's a muggle thing." said Mallory.

Avery's interest waned the moment she spoke the word _muggle._

Montague, who'd been silent up until now, spoke. "Rowle's dead because you, then. You three weren't out there on accident. You were taken because you're a mudblood. She didn't do anything to deserve that."

Mallory's face crumpled. She didn't know what to say to that. She didn't like Rowle. In fact, Mallory enjoyed punching the girl in the nose. But she didn't want to be responsible for her _death._

"I don't think—" Colin started only to be interrupted again.

"Did either of you read the paper this morning?" asked Avery. He wasn't talking to Mallory or Colin. He was addressing the two non-muggleborn students. And Mallory had enough brainpower free to feel irritated by that.

"No," said Montague, shaking his head.

Vaisey nodded, then her eyes widened in horror. "You don't think—"

Avery turned to Mallory. "There were _three_ of you taken, right?"

"Harper, Rowle, and me, yeah."

"Then Rowle _can't_ be dead because of her," he said to Montague. "Think about it. No one would go through all that effort to kill one mudblood and _accidentally_ kill a pureblood, instead."

"You're—" Colin folded his arms. "That's not nice. You shouldn't call us that."

"Shut up." said Montague.

"I'm telling you, I'm right." Avery spoke over them. "She might beray our house, but no one's going to kill her for it. This was about Rowle's family, I'd wager ten galleons on it."

"We're not _betting_ on my friend's death!" hissed Vaisey.

"Merlin! It's just an expression. I'm not _really_ going to make a bet."

"You shouldn't even joke—"

"There's a stick up your arse, Vaisey, and you should work on—"

"The Cracklewood Carver's back!" screamed Vaisey, over Avery's insult.

Mallory was looking back and forth between them, eyes wide.

"The Cracklewood..." she felt her blood go a little cold at the name.

_A branch cracked behind them, and they all froze._

"The Cracklewood Carver. They said in the paper that there's a rumor going around that the Cracklewood Carver struck again. And I was so scared— _so scared,_ because he always takes three kids and all three of you were missing and— and— he does—" her voice hitched, "_things_ to the bodies."

_There was a wet sound, like stones on something slick and—_

Vaisey was looking at Mallory, frozen. She couldn't move a muscle and all the blood had gone out of her face. "It was the Carver," Vaisey whispered. "You _saw_ what—"

Mallory nodded, trying to focus on breathing in and out, because _thinking_ would make it worse.

Vaisey's knuckles went to her mouth, and Mallory could see tears in the corners of her eyes.

Fuck.

"We should've—" the crying girl swallowed. "My parents were even _talking_ about the Carver a few days ago. But I didn't— He strikes every seven years and I didn't even _think—_"

Avery rolled his eyes, "and what would you've done, exactly?"

"Anything! I would've _looked_ for her, I would've—" Vaisey's eyes grew wide. "Wait."

"What?" asked Montague, who'd been watching the exchange with wide eyes and a slacked jaw.

"Wait," repeated Vaisey, "does everyone know the Carver strikes every seven years?"

Avery nodded.

"Then it _can't_ be the Carver," said Vaisey. "Don't you see? It's the perfect way to hide a murder."

Avery snorted. "That's too obvious. It's the first thing anyone's going to think. A real murderer would never use the Carver as a scapegoat."

"No one will think of it. Not everyone's a Slytherin." said Vaisey.

Mallory glanced at Colin, who had his arms folded across his chest. He didn't glance over at her or even acknowledge her.

"But that's what a Slytherin would think!" argued Vaisey. "They'd think that _because_ everyone will think no one would be that stupid, that it's the perfect plan."

She didn't want to believe it was the Carver. Cokebottles Vaisey didn't want to believe, because the thought scared her.

Avery shook his head and sighed. "Blub all you like, Vaisey, but it won't make one whit of a difference. _We_ won't be able to solve her murder, and solving it won't fix anything."

Mallory spoke up. "The Carver— you said it has more than one victim?" She was ignoring Avery, who was being worse than useless.

"Yes." said Vaisey.

"Then maybe we're all still in danger." Mallory said.

"You, maybe." Vaisey narrowed her eyes. "And I hope it gets you." Her cheeks were pink and her fists were clenched at her sides.

Vaisey was very angry with Mallory, she could tell.

"No," said Avery, "that doesn't make sense. The Carver— murderer, whoever, they killed _Rowle,_ not the mudblood. If this is about blood, then the _purebloods_ are the ones in danger."

Mallory blinked, because she hadn't considered that. "Er— then, why take me and Harper?"

"Because..." Avery frowned, "as a distraction? To draw everyone's attention from the real target."

"Harper might be in danger, though." said Montague, eyes widening. "We have to solve it."

"You don't know that." said Avery, "You don't even know if it's the Carver."

"If it's not the Carver," said Montague, "then we only know that a pureblood Slytherin was murdered at Hogwarts, _and I think you should care about that._"

Avery frowned, adjusting the strap on his backpack.

The rest of the group had gone on ahead to the library, and Mallory was starting to get antsy. Anyone that could disarm three first years could just as easily disable five of them.

"If someone is out to get us, are we safe walking around the hallways by ourselves?" Mallory asked. She said it like a question, but she meant it more as a statement of fact.

Montague and Avery looked around, alert. It occurred to Mallory that those two were both purebloods, and thought someone was targeting them.

She could feel a great deal of sympathy for that kind of fear right now.

"I—" Avery frowned, trailing off. "I think I might know a way we can find out what's going on."

Vaisey's head whipped around, glaring at him. "You know how to find out who killed her?"

"No, but I might be able to tell if more students will die."

Four confused faces stared at him.

"Meet me after lunch in the common room." said Avery, to Montague and Vaisey.

Which meant Mallory would be postponing leaving until after lunch. A part of her mind reared up in alarm. _You're putting it off._ But another part said information was valuable, and that the murderer likely wouldn't kill her while she was in class.

The cautious part of her felt a spike of visceral terror. _She was deluding herself._

During the Slytherin Initiation, she thought, Mallory had been surrounded by seventh years, second years, and the terrifying Gemma Farley.

None of them managed to save Rowle.

The murderer separated them, then killed her.

She couldn't forget that. Every second she delayed, she was putting herself at risk. Eventually, Mallory's luck would run out.

But, she thought, if Avery had some way of telling the future, then she could find out if another student will die.

Then she'd know if the killer was after her.

* * *

Colin was ignoring her.

They were walking toward the library where Prep was held, and Colin wasn't speaking to her _at all_.

Torches flickered at regular intervals between the windows as she walked quickly behind him.

"Colin!" Mallory called out, gasping for air. He was moving too fast and Mallory was already hurting from her tangle with the shelves.

Colin said nothing.

"Please," Mallory said, emotion coloring her words. "Just tell me what's wrong!"

He stopped in place and turned around, fixing her with a disappointed look. She wilted a bit under that stare.

"That was really _mean_, Mallory." he said, lips downturned and weary. "You _lied_ to her."

"I—" she stuttered. "I didn't—"

"If you even thought for a _second_ that Selwyn was the murderer, you wouldn't have gone to class. And I _know_ the Aurors spoke to you. If you suspected him, you would've told them, and _he_ wouldn't have been in class."

"Then I wouldn't have worried about going to class." she stated.

"Stop lying." Colin looked sad. "I know you lied about it."

"No you don't!"

"You did the face thing. The—" he broke off, clapping his hands to his face and making an exaggerated expression of horror, eyes wide and mouth gaping.

"I did not." Mallory scowled at him, crossing her arms.

"You did," he said, "and you got me paying attention to faces, so I saw how long it took you to make the scared face. You did it _after_ you told everyone he did it. And I kept thinking that was odd until I finally figured it out, that you were _acting_."

"I—" she felt deflated. "I'm sorry."

"_Why?_" Colin asked, emotion injected into the word. "Why would you accuse that kid of murder?"

"I know." she repressed a sigh, "I wasn't thinking—"

They were outside the library. Prep was in a room right off it, with easy access to all kinds of books.

Their classmates were standing in the doorway, being lectured by Professor Snape on appropriate library behavior.

"You weren't _thinking,_" he echoed.

"You can punch me in the nose, if that'll help."

"No, Mallory, that's not going to help." Colin looked away, huffing out a breath of air.

"Then I— I don't know how to fix this." Her voice was quieter now that they were closer to Snape and the group. She didn't know what to do.

Colin might not want to be her friend, anymore.

"I'm sorry, too." said Colin, letting out a huff of air. "I didn't push you to talk about this."

"What?" she frowned, confused. "No, you can't blame _yourself._" What the heck had he done? It wasn't his job to figure out what she was thinking.

"It's okay." said Colin. "I'll help. I _want_ to help, but you can't do things like that, anymore."

She was confused. She didn't know what he was trying to say, trying to express. She'd thought she had Colin pegged, that she knew what made him tick. But this wasn't what she expected.

"What— what do you want to help with?"

"The girl with the glasses— she said—" Colin broke off. "The Cracklewood Carver did something to Rowle's body, and it messed with your head. But— you're not sure it was the Carver? And you think someone's trying to kill you? I can't help if I don't know what's going on."

"I don't think I can do anything." Mallory said, fingers twitching at her sides. Fuck, she got him all wrong.

"You've been attacked, and you're tired, hurt, distracted— _I'm_ not." He took a step forward, "I know I said I wouldn't ask, but what happened the other night's messing with you, and if you can talk about it, it might help."

Mallory's model of Colin would react poorly to the truth of her so-called adventure. He'd be _scared,_ and rightfully so. Colin admired Harry Potter, a child celebrity of sorts. She thought this was because he was famous, and Colin wanted to be famous, too.

He was okay with having a girl best friend because Potter had a girl best friend. He wanted a share of the glory, a moment in the spotlight. _He wanted to ride to school in a flying car and crash into the Whomping Willow._ Then everyone would be writing about _him_ in the paper.

But there was a big difference between a publicity stunt and putting himself in the path of a murderer.

She understood that, and didn't fault him for it.

Though, now that her attention was focused on this problem, she was remembering their conversation from before. He said something-or-other about doing heroic deeds as eleven year olds.

He wanted to help students avoid being picked on, help them with homework. That didn't fit with her model of him well, neither did _this._

"Why do you like Harry Potter?" Mallory asked.

Colin looked confused. "What? Mallory—"

"It's important." She smiled. "Humor me?"

"Okay," he frowned. "He defeated the Dark Lord when he was just a baby. And then—"

"You want to be a hero?" she interrupted.

"Of course," Colin said, "what _else_ would I do with magic?"

He said it like he'd scooped the words right out of her head.

She had a lump in her throat.

Mallory blinked furiously for a moment, because she'd never been so wrong before in her life. She could have a _team,_ just like she always wanted. She didn't want to leave.

"Okay." Mallory swallowed. "I'll tell you. Just give me a moment?"

Mallory dug into her pocket and pulled out a sticky vial. The calming potion. If she was going to talk about the forest, she was going to need it.

* * *

Two familiar faces were breaking away from the group by Snape, heading their way. Mallory startled when she recognized them.

Felix and Kit were walking towards them, Felix with a stack of books in his arms.

Kit skipped right over to Mallory and wrapped her arms around her. Mallory tensed, flinching back. Her arms stung where Kit's hands brushed over the cuts.

She drew back. "Are you alright?"

"Sure" Mallory nodded, "you brushed against a cut, it's fine."

Kit stared, mouth downturned at the edges, eyes full with some sort of emotion that Mallory couldn't put a name to— searching? Curiosity, maybe?

"You smell like something died." said Kit.

"There was an accident," Mallory said, "you don't want to know."

"Is that _blood?_" asked Felix. He put down his books and started prodding her arms with his wand.

"It's just the backs of my arms. Don't worry about it."

"Everyone's saying that someone died," said Felix, "and that another student tried to kill you?"

"I— er." Wait, did no one tell the Gryffindors that it was a lie?

"Come on, leave her alone." said Kit.

_"Come on, look up. It attacked when we weren't looking, look at me!"_

Kit snapped her fingers in front of Mallory's nose.

For a moment, just a moment, Mallory forgot that she was in the hallway in Hogwarts, and not lost in the Forbidden Forest.

"Don't _do_ that." said Felix. "You're not supposed to spook traumatized people. I read it in—"

"'Lo Felix. Alright?" Colin spoke over whatever Felix was about to say.

She was desperately glad Colin changed the subject, and wasn't drawing attention to her little lapse.

Felix nodded. "I'm good. Have you started on the homework, yet?"

"No," Colin shook his head. "Why?"

Felix shrugged. "I thought we could do it in prep. We're supposed to practice wand movements."

Kit frowned. "We both got it, and so did Colin—"

"I know." Felix could've been made out of wood, for all that he was expressing.

_Oh._ Felix wanted to make sure _Mallory_ got to practice the wand movements, if she was reading his intentions correctly. It was hard to be sure. Felix confused her.

"Okay." Mallory said, "that sounds helpful."

Felix's face twitched in what might've been a shy smile.

She was right.

Mallory felt warm inside. It was like Colin tried to cheer her up in the Hospital Wing, when all he knew how to do was babble, and how Kit snapped her fingers in front of Mallory's face when she was sucked back _there._

It was nice, seeing that they cared about her. They'd only been at Hogwarts for a few days, and Mallory was wondering how long it'd take to form friendships.

Not very long at all, it seemed. It made her pretty sad she'd have to leave.

Kit tugged her hand, which still contained the vial of calming potion. "What's that?"

"I need to take it." Mallory said, before uncorking the vial and drinking it down.

"You _did_ get that potion from the nurse." said Felix, as though he was daring her to say differently.

"Yeah, it's coz I—" Mallory trailed off, "I keep getting freaked out because everyone's talking about what happened, and then it reminds _me_ what happened. It's calming potion."

"I don't _want_ to make you talk about what happened, but I need to know why you did it." said Colin.

"Wait, there's some truth to the rumors? Did someone really die?" Kit's eyes were wide as saucers.

"It's not that I—" Mallory swallowed. "I was torn up about it. But someone's trying to kill me, Colin."

"What's going on?" asked Kit, worrying her lip. "Someone's really trying to kill you?"

"I—" Mallory broke off as Vaisey, Montague, and Avery came in sight.

The three Slytherins were catching up to the group, and were now walking past Mallory, Colin, Kit and Felix.

Cokebottles Vaisey gave Mallory a vicious glare as she passed the muggleborns. She suspected Vaisey would like to use one of those cutting charms on her.

Mallory lowered her voice. "A couple kids and me were kidnapped, and one of us died."

"_What?_" hissed Kit.

"Snape said I wasn't supposed to talk about it." Mallory glanced toward where Snape was still talking, "But I don't really care."

"Will talking about it disrupt the investigation?" asked Felix, adjusting his glasses.

"No," Mallory shook her head. "Snape just doesn't want us gossiping about it."

Kit reached out and squeezed Mallory's shoulder. "If you don't _want_ to talk about it—"

"I did something bad." Mallory blinked, "And I'm not sure if you can make any of it better, but I do want you to know why I did it."

Snape finally whirled on them. "You will be _silent!_ I won't have disrespect from snot-nosed children. If you continue to speak you'll serve more detentions!"

The four muggleborns went silent, glancing at one another in expressions of exasperation. In spite of Colin's disagreement with Mallory, they were still united in their dislike of Snape.

Snape, who was _still_ talking.

"I will determine whether you need more reference materials. You will not go into the library to avoid work. And I will be checking to be sure you're studying."

Mallory looked over at Colin, and he met her gaze. She rolled her eyes and made face. His lips twitched upwards, and she took that as a good sign.

With that final ominous pronouncement, the first years were lead into the library and then through a door into the study room.

All first years had prep together, which meant Mallory, Colin, Felix, and Kit were free to sit together.

The study room was a classroom with a stone floor and stone walls. A teacher's desk was at the front, and along the right wall were tall windows that let in bright sunlight.

Snape looked decidedly out of place in the warm, cheery room.

A number of wooden tables were scattered around the room for students to sit, six to a table.

Colin and Mallory guided the two Hufflepuffs to a table far from the Professor's desk

Felix took out his books, and soon a disproportionate part of their table was covered in notebooks and textbooks. Kit gave Mallory a long-suffered look of irritation.

Their group was getting some attention, and Mallory guessed it wasn't because they crossed the House divide.

A Ravenclaw boy was animatedly speaking to Montague, dashing Mallory's theory that Montague didn't have any friends besides Harper. And a Hufflepuff girl sitting next to Avery.

Vaisey was speaking to _another_ Hufflepuff, who looked like he was just finding out what happened to Rowle, because his face was twisting with grief and he kept looking over at Mallory.

"Snape's going to be really upset." Mallory muttered.

"Why?" asked Kit.

"Vaisey— the one with the Cokebottle glasses— she's telling everyone what happened and—" Mallory shook her head. Fuck, it didn't matter. She was _leaving._

"Oh, you told her?"

"That Rowle was dead, nothing else." She didn't want her new friends to think that she told a stranger her life-shattering news before them.

"Right," said Felix, "what did happen?"

Snape chose that moment to interrupt.

"All of you will sit down. Now." Snape said, gliding to the front of the classroom to plant himself behind his desk.

At Snape's words, silence reigned.

The rest of the first years slowly slumped towards their desks, splitting into groups.

A blonde haired Ravenclaw and the Weasley girl were sitting alone in the front, and everyone was giving them a wide berth. Mallory's table was given the same treatment. Whether it was because no one wanted to sit near the muggleborns, or because of the events in potions, Mallory didn't know.

Felix opened a textbook and started reading, adjusting the glasses up on his nose every time they started sliding down. He had two notebooks open in front of him. One already had _pages_ of notes.

His pencil scratched across his notebook.

It took Mallory a moment to realize he was re-writing the notes from the old notebook into the new one, using a ruler to underline words. The boy had a pencil sharpened to a near surgical point, with a neat little eraser kept next to it.

Mallory considered that Felix might be a tad obsessive. No one ought to care that much about notes.

Kit tapped lightly on the desk and Mallory looked up. A note was passed under her nose.

_What happened? What did you do?_

Mallory flipped it over and wrote—

_Someone wants to kill me because I'm at Hogwarts, so I tried to get myself expelled in Potions._

Kit raised her eyebrows, and Colin snatched the note out of her hand to read it. He helpfully added an addendum to her note.

_...by accusing this kid of murdering Rowle, when she knew he didn't._

And then passed _that_ back to Kit. But before she could read it, Mallory snatched it back and crossed out _this kid_ and replaced it with—

_Evil Dead-eyed looking kid who hit Felix during the Battle on the Pitch_

Kit read the note before Mallory could editorialize it more. Their actions even caught Felix's attention, and Kit handed over the note for him to read.

Where it was promptly snatched out of his hand by the vile and most loathsome Snape. He glanced over it for a moment before curling his lip in derision.

"I remember I _explicitly_ stated that you weren't to _speak of it,_ Miss Hopkins."

"Professor Snape," said Kit, "Felix asked Mallory for a piece of parchme—"

"Do you think I don't see what's going on in my own classroom, under my very nose?" Snape interrupted her.

Mallory had to credit Kit with an excellent poker face. Felix, on the other hand, was turning redder than a hot tomato.

"No, sir." said Kit.

"This paper is _written_ on." he hissed. "You're passing notes in my class."

"The back side isn't written on, yet." said Kit, helpfully. She was repressing a grin, _struggling_ to keep her face straight, but Mallory could tell she wasn't fooling anyone.

"15 points from Hufflepuff, each!" Snape said, before crumpling the note in his hand and swirling off to torment some other poor students.

Colin, who'd been watching Kit in shock, widened his eyes comically, as if to ask _why did you do that?_

Kit replied by sticking her tongue out and grinning. Colin dropped his head onto the desk and let out a little groan in response.

They looked over at Felix, who was still frozen in his seat, ears red and face splotchy.

Mallory pointed at him and made a thumbs up, tilting her head a little. _Are you ok?_

Felix rolled his eyes, picking his pencil back up to—

"Mr. Underwood." Oh, fuck. He was back. The miserable bastard came back, because he hadn't made them miserable enough.

"Need I remind you that you're a wizard? Wizards write with _quills._" Snape vanished all the pencils, pens, and erasers scattered across the muggleborn table. "10 points from Gryffindor, and another 20 from Hufflepuff, for being unprepared for class."

Kit, Felix, and Colin all looked at Mallory.

"Miss Hopkins," said Snape, "I believe I already informed you to bring a quill to class. At this point, you're flagrantly flouting the rules. You'll be serving another detention."

Mallory had enough. She was about to scream at him, mouth opening as insults _fought_ themselves in her mind, all of them itching to be spewed at once.

But then—

"Severus!" yelled an adult voice from the door.

Mallory and her friends turned to look, and saw the librarian standing in the doorway, covered head to toe in bright green slime.

"It's Peeves," said the librarian, "he's at it again."

Snape moved with a whirl of his robes, stalking to the door. He only paused to spin around as an afterthought.

"You will all be silent and _study_ while I'm gone."

Naturally, the moment he was out of earshot, the entire classroom erupted into noise.

Felix was livid. "I can't believe the gall of that— that _teacher!_"

"He's worse than a leaky arsehole." stated Mallory, nodding in solidarity.

"He's going to get everyone in Hufflepuff to hate us." said Kit, shaking her head. "It's already bad enough as it is without him sticking his nose in it."

Mallory blinked, surprised. "The other Hufflepuffs aren't being friendly?" Odd, because she heard around that Hufflepuffs were above all else, _nice._

"Oh, no." Kit lowered her voice. "Macy Gibbon won't even lower herself to speak to me, and the rest follow her lead."

Mallory crinkled her nose. "Which one's she?"

"No, no." Kit shook her head firmly, "don't look. Then she'll know I was talking about her and she'll feel all kinds of pleased."

"I'm rubbish with a quill." Colin said. "It gets ink _everywhere._"

"I wanted to rewrite my notes. They're too messy." Felix slumped in his seat, folding his arms across his chest. "Now what'll I do with this time?"

Kit groaned and rolled her eyes. "Think he'll be gone for a while?"

"Peeves is a poltergeist." said Felix, "he's _trouble,_ so I suspect so."

A grin flitted across Kit's face, and she rummaged through her backpack. A moment later, Kit pulled her hand out, clutching a bundle wrapped in napkins. Grease was seeping through the fabric, darkening it.

Strips of bacon and sausages were revealed, much to the delight of the four muggleborns. The meat was a bit squashed from the trip to the library, but the four were nonplussed.

Picking up the meaty bits with one hand, Kit eyed Mallory while she nibbled her food. "I want to know what happened to you."

Felix perked up at that, scooching his chair forward. "So do I."

"We don't have to talk about it now," said Colin, glancing over at Kit. "I mean, if she's really—"

Kit shrugged, chewing on a bite of pilfered breakfast while keeping her eyes on her friends.

"I took the calming potion." Mallory said. "It should be working by now. I won't freak out again."

Felix spoke, "what _happened_?"

Mallory hesitated, shifting in her seat. Her robes were stuck to her body from those jars of fluid. The sensation reminded her uncomfortably of the forest.

These were her _friends,_ but they weren't her— she frowned.

What was closer than a friend but not quite family? Someone she could rely on when things broke down. _Teammate_ fit, in the sense that she and Danny worked together to accomplish goals.

But the word _team_ didn't imply the easy trust she and Danny shared. _Partners_ worked, but didn't allow for growth beyond two people.

It had been an idea floating around in the back of Mallory's mind for quite some time, now. Mallory knew she worked better with Danny. She took that to mean she worked better in a group, _in general._

But she didn't know these three well enough to anticipate how they'd react. Kit dove into battle to save Felix, but Mallory didn't know why she did it.

"Did you two know each other before Hogwarts?" Mallory asked Kit and Felix.

"I'm not following." said Colin.

"Humor me."

"You keep _saying_ that." Colin groaned, "what are you up to, now?"

"No, we met on the train." Kit glanced between them, and then said, "are you up to something?"

Her tone held idle curiosity and not much more.

_I want to invite you to join my secret club to become powerful (Danny) and do heroic deeds (Mallory.)_

Then again, if they proved to be untrustworthy—

"I— no." Mallory shook her head. "I'm thinking."

"You're doing an awful lot of that." said Colin. "You're thinking about heroes, tough choices, why I like Harry Potter, and whether or not Felix and Kit knew each other before Hogwarts. You're trying to figure out how to get expelled out of Hogwarts—"

"Why on earth do you want to get expelled?" Felix gaped.

"Please?" Mallory said, injecting a bit of emotion into her voice. "I need a moment."

Colin's expression shifted, a touch of softness changing the shape of his eyes.

"Okay, take your time." Kit said, shrugging. Felix gave Mallory a curt nod.

Mental review, she was leaving Hogwarts, but she wanted to stay in touch with the friends she made here. She _especially_ wanted to keep in touch if they could become a superhero team.

What better way to test them than this?

She took a breath, shaking her head. "Sorry. Okay, I'll explain what happened."

"You sure?" asked Colin.

"Sure, but— er, I'm not sure if telling you is dangerous. I think someone's trying to kill me, because I'm the first muggleborn in Slytherin. I was threatened. If you help, you might be targeted, too. I don't want to drag you into it."

Kit cocked her head to one side, lips pursed.

"A student was killed." said Felix. "If we have the means to help and we don't, that'd be unethical." His voice was low, as though he was thinking aloud.

"Of course we'll help." said Colin. As if that were the obvious thing to do. Quite suddenly there was a lump in her throat. Again.

Okay, yeah, Colin was _definitely_ secret-superhero-team material. She'd just have to hope he and Danny got along.

Mallory turned to Kit, "just because those two agreed doesn't mean you have to."

"This is the most interesting thing to happen in my entire life." Kit blinked. "Dangerous, yeah, but _interesting._ I'm in."

"Okay." Well then, that was a start.


	12. The Cracklewood Carver Part 3

Previously: Mallory and the rest of the Slytherin first years were subject to a Slytherin Initiation Ceremony. Only, something went terribly wrong. Mallory Hopkins, Darla Rowle, and Leland Harper were kidnapped by an unknown adversary. Then their kidnapper, for unknown reasons, proceeded to kill Rowle.

Mallory, still believing herself to be in danger from the attacker, started a fight in potions class in an ill-advised attempt to get herself expelled. Now, she and her friends, Colin Creevey, Kit Jennings, and Felix Underwood, are sitting in study hall discussing what to do next.

* * *

Felix took out a another pen from his backpack, glancing up quickly to make sure Snape was still gone.

Mallory imagined that he was afraid of Snape vanishing _more_ of his writing implements.

The slimy git left the classroom earlier at the behest of the librarian, who was being pestered by Peeves the Poltergeist. She felt a keen sense of fondness towards the creature, for providing such a timely distraction.

"Okay, tell me what you remember."

Mallory wondered to herself if she was telling them about this to take the decision to leave out of her hands. She didn't want to leave, and she very much wanted someone else to make this decision for her.

But like Colin said, Mallory was tired, injured, and traumatized. She wasn't in the best shape to be thinking through problems. They might have a better idea.

"Okay, then." said Mallory. "The other night I was grabbed out of my bed along with all the other Slytherin first years. The older kids do this every year— it's the Slytherin Initiation Ceremony. They took us to the woods to scare us, but a lookout ran by screaming how professors were coming."

"The professors don't know about the Initiation?" asked Colin.

"I can't imagine no one leaking it, not once in a thousand years." Mallory shrugged.

It didn't narrow down the suspect pool, in other words.

"Who was the lookout?" asked Felix.

"I don't know," Mallory said. "The thing that gets me was that we were supposed to follow a seventh year back to the castle when someone spotted the Professors. But the student didn't lead us to the castle, they vanished into thin air."

"You didn't catch their face." said Colin.

"No," Mallory affirmed, "they were wearing hooded cloaks."

"Then Rowle was killed?" asked Kit.

"No," Mallory shook her head, "then we were hunted."

"Avery said the target was Rowle," interrupted Colin, "and that you were a distraction?"

"Rowle and Harper followed me." Mallory said.

"Do you think a student was behind it?" asked Colin.

"I think a student, or students, helped." said Mallory. "Maybe they knew the killer was out there, and put us in his path to kill us. Maybe they were hired by someone to do it. I don't know."

"But Rowle was the daughter of Death Eaters, right?" asked Colin. "Maybe you were just dragged along. Harper isn't dead, either."

"But _I_ was following the seventh year, and Rowle was following _me._"

The sun was shining on their table, light glinting off of Felix's watch as he shifted in his seat.

Mallory looked down at the desk. "We think someone memory charmed us."

Her three friends looked at each other, mildly alarmed. "Magic can do that?"

Mallory nodded. "I think so. And Harper and Rowle, they take potions," there was an awkward pause. "Did, I mean. Rowle did. The potions allow them to remember everything in detail—"

"Is that _allowed?_" Felix asked, eyes wide behind his glasses. His spine was as straight as a wooden beam, with fingers twitching on the desk in half-aborted movements. It was like he wanted to curl them into fists but kept stopping himself.

"I don't know." Mallory said, then amended, "I don't _think_ so."

"That's not right. I don't have potions to help me study!" His ears were red and lips were white with how tightly they were pressed together.

Mallory got the distinct impression of a coiled spring, or a bottle of carbonated water under pressure.

"Hush! They'll hear," hissed Kit.

"I want them to." said Felix. "It's not fair!"

"Yeah, I know." Mallory said, irritated. "But we're talking about _Darla Rowle's killer_, now."

"Okay," said Colin. He sounded exasperated. "We'll table the potions talk for later. Why are you mentioning the potions, Mallory?"

"Because Harper and Rowle have- had _very good_ memories," said Mallory. "And they knew how to get out of the Forest, but ended up going in circles, instead. And then—" she felt like throwing up.

"The murderer killed her?" Colin's voice was low.

She swallowed. "It was—" she broke off. "I really can't. I'll throw up if I do."

"You don't have to—"

"Have you all seen _Silence of the Lambs_?" Mallory asked, instead.

Kit and Colin nodded.

"So, remember the scene with the— er, the security guard. Hannibal strings him up with the guts and the gore?"

"Oh my god." Kit said. "Oh my god, did— it was like _that?_"

"No," she looked up, "It was grosser. Worse. But I mean, in _tone_, if _that_ can have a tone. It wasn't a beast attacking, or— someone just killing another person. Any kind of killing her would've scared us bad, if that was what they wanted. So—"

Kit pushed her plate of bacon away, crinkling her nose. The topic must've put her off her pilfered breakfast. "Does this mean I have to stop making jokes about Dead-Eyes being a young Hannibal Lecter?"

Mallory choked on a little laugh. "No."

She grinned, "great."

"But what was done to Rowle, it was done in the _split second_ I took my eyes off of her." Mallory whispered, "I think he took a while to kill her. We _saw_ it happen, and had our memories erased. It felt like a split second, but it couldn't have been."

There was silence for a moment, as they absorbed the information.

Mallory turned her eyes to the rest of the classroom. A group was huddled around Vaisey. The students occasionally glancing back towards Mallory's corner of the room.

They were talking about Rowle.

It struck her then, that she hadn't consciously decided to solve this mystery. She was planning on _leaving_, so she couldn't. But fuck, did she want to.

Mallory needed to be able to put the event in context, to have some explanation for what happened to them in that forest. The uncertainty of _not knowing_ ate at her.

Further, it was her first real mystery. If she were a hero, _this_ would be where it began, with a solemn vow to catch a murderer.

But she couldn't solve this mystery between now and the end of lunch. It was impossible.

Even with the help of her friends, there was little she could do. If grown wizards were confused, then what hope did four first years have?

"I'm curious," Felix said, "what does this have to do with starting a fight and blaming Selwyn for her murder?"

Mallory turned back to her friends. "The other night, a group of Slytherins said they'd get me expelled or _worse_ if I didn't leave Hogwarts. I'm the first ever muggleborn in Slytherin, and that makes them unhappy. I _think_ this might've been a botched attempt to kill me."

"So you think if you get yourself actually expelled, they'll leave you alone?" asked Kit.

Mallory shrugged. "Pretty much."

"But blaming Selwyn?" said Colin, arms crossed across his chest. He disapproved.

"It was all I could think of at the time." Mallory's voice was tight, defensive.

"I understand why you did it." Colin said, voice soft. "And what we talked about earlier, the thing about being a hero? That's what you were asking about, right?"

She hardly remembered their conversation earlier. Mallory strained, thinking back. She asked him about being a hero, and he said people find all sorts of reasons not to do the heroic thing.

Mallory nodded, "Yeah."

"I— okay, then I change my mind. Running away isn't a bad idea." said Colin.

This could be it, her moment to be a hero, the start of a fantastic story of adventure.

But Colin was right.

Mallory, more than anyone, knew how _impossible_ it was to defeat the Cracklewood Carver, or whomever was trying to kill her. This wasn't a storybook, it was real life.

And Colin, he saw that. Confronted with a real-life adventure, Colin Creevey responded with responsible suggestions. He wasn't pretending that Mallory wasn't _really_ in danger. Instead, he listened to what she had to say.

She was _keeping_ him.

"I don't want you to _die._" said Colin, mistaking her silence for confusion. "If someone wants to kill you—"

"Have you spoken to the professors?" asked Felix, speaking over Colin.

"Yeah," Mallory sighed, "but they think I want to leave school to avoid doing work. They don't believe another student could want me dead."

"Maybe they're right?" asked Kit. "I don't think you're trying to avoid homework. But are you sure they want you dead?"

"I don't know. I'm not even sure my memories of that night are _real._"

"Montague and Vaisey mentioned something about a serial killer?" asked Colin.

There was, according to Vaisey, a serial killer that murdered three children every seven years. The newspaper ran an article on him, speculating whether he'd be back this September. If Vaisey was to be believed, Rowle's death mirrored the deaths of the previous Carver victims.

Mallory nodded. "The Cracklewood Carver. It _sounds_ right, but they had a point. If everyone knows this guy strikes every seven years, and you want to hide a murder—"

"Then it might not be the real Cracklewood Carver." finished Felix. "If it isn't the Carver, would school be safe?"

_Thank you, Felix._ He was catching on, getting a handle on the situation faster than Mallory expected.

That was happening _a lot_ lately, and she was wondering if her experience in the village wasn't typical. Maybe there were _a lot_ of eleven year olds like Danny, Colin, Kit, and Felix.

"I don't know." Mallory shook her head. "I don't even know anything _about_ the Carver."

Well, she didn't know anything about the serial killer in the papers. But with the calming potion running through her veins, she could think about that night without wanting to shrivel up.

"What?"

"I don't know anything about the Carver, but I _do_ know a bit about Rowle's killer."

She'd never dared do this outside Danny. But then, Colin hadn't recoiled when Mallory explained about the body.

He didn't think she was gross or icky because she saw a dead person, didn't think it was reason to abandon her. His interest in Potter had nothing to do with fame and glory. He wanted to be a hero, just like Mallory.

"Whoever it was," Mallory spoke slowly, "they were a _hunter._" She looked up. Felix looked dubious and Kit was concerned.

Colin's face was intense, frowning in concentration.

"Why do you think that?" he asked.

It was because of a game.

Danny and she played this game back at South Brent. It was like people-watching, only better. They tried guessing what other people were feeling, based on how they were acting.

The way a person held themselves, the nervous twitches and split-second expressions crossing their faces, those were Danny's domain. He wanted to learn how to read them. Further, he wanted to learn what people wanted, and how to convince them to want what _he_ wanted.

So Danny made people-watching into a game, a game which Mallory was grudgingly dragged into time and time again.

Mallory wasn't very good at this game, and found it terribly boring. She had trouble paying attention to someone's face for that long.

Though, it was the skill she employed the other night when they were attacked in the Forest. Mallory tried to imagine the sort of person that would kill Darla Rowle. Why would they choose to hunt children?

The game wasn't something Mallory or Danny talked about with anyone, for obvious reasons.

"Mallory?" asked Colin, "why do you think it was a hunter?"

Right.

If Colin and the rest rejected her, she was leaving _anyway._ A rejection would box herself further into running away— it'd give her one more reason to leave.

"The killer stayed out of sight the entire night. He let us run away, but we always ended up back in the clearing where Rowle was murdered. He could do magic, and enjoyed the hunt. Killing us wasn't enough, he needed us scared."

"Holy crap," Kit's eyes were wide as saucers. "that's like— Steven King level—"

"He let us _know_ we were being hunted—" continued Mallory, "branches cracking and the whole running in circles bit."

"That might've been an accident," Colin said, uncertain. "It's hard to be quiet in the woods."

"Sure, but..." she trailed off. But it didn't _fit_ "oh, silencing spells."

If someone didn't want to be heard "You're right." Felix said, "there are , they'd cast a silencing spell. spells to muffle sound. I read about them."

"Maybe they didn't think of the spell?" Kit asked.

"Maybe," said Colin, "but wizards know spells for everything, you know?"

"So it was on purpose." Mallory confirmed, nodding to herself. "And the whole thing followed like the plot to a horror movie."

Felix frowned. "What?"

"Real life doesn't act like movies, I don't think. I mean, it _can,_" she wanted to be a superhero, after all. "but there are all sorts of ways how it doesn't."

"It was too much like a scary movie to feel real?" asked Kit.

"Yeah," Mallory nodded. "it was _scary_ in just the same way a horror movie is scary. Like someone who's watched too many and wanted us to feel like we were in one, on purpose."

"Suspense and jump-scares?"

"Yeah." Mallory said.

"We're _not_ living in a horror movie." said Colin, deadpan.

"I'll bet that's what everyone in a horror movie thinks, right before the bog monster gets them." Kit said.

Mallory's lips twitched upwards, in spite of herself.

"You think the killer wanted you to forget Rowle's death for some other reason than not getting caught." Felix changed the subject.

"For fun," Mallory said. "Because they wanted the experience to be fresh and new. Because something went wrong while they were doing that to Rowle, and they didn't want us to see their mistake. Because—"

It could be for any number of reasons.

"Alright," said Kit, "they're creepy. What I'm _still_ confused on— why do you want to leave Hogwarts? The aurors are here, and all our professors know what happened."

"Yeah," said Colin. "Won't the killer be more cautious, now that people are looking for him?"

"Maybe," said Mallory, "but think about the sort of person who waits in the woods to… say, jump out and scare you."

Danny was one of those people, and it bothered her that her model of the murderer wasn't far from her model of Danny, minus the evil murdering.

Danny, too, was obsessive and focused. When Danny and she plotted something, he tended towards schemes that allowed people to think _everything was just fine_ until suddenly it wasn't. And by the time they realized something was _off_, Danny already won.

"I tried," said Kit, "but I don't get what imagining that is going to help?"

Right. She got back on track.

"Imagine you're the killer, and part of the thrill of killing is _scaring_ the victim. And— now they're alert, but because they are, they think they're safe."

Kit's eyes widened, the moment she understood.

"He's going to attack again, because it'll be unexpected and scare people worse."

"Yeah, exactly."

"I see," Felix said, "but Hogwarts has all kinds of protections on it."

Colin glanced over at Felix, "also, the killer might be expecting you to run away."

That gave Mallory pause.

By leaving the safety of Hogwarts, she might be exposing herself to more danger. The killer might guess Mallory would run, and be waiting for her.

"You could hide in an empty classroom or something, until he's caught." Colin said, eager. "Or you could _tell_ everyone you're leaving Hogwarts and then hide!"

"There are tracking charms," said Felix. "Technically, if the killer is determined he could find her wherever she goes."

Mallory nodded. "And staying here isn't safe. Half the kids want me gone. I'll bet the killer could bribe a student into kidnapping me."

"You can't be the first muggleborn in Slytherin," said Felix. "Hogwarts has been around for a thousand years."

"The seventh years said I was." Mallory said, mulishly.

How was that even related to anything, Mallory wondered.

"How many students are there in Slytherin, every year?" asked Kit. She was looking expectantly at Mallory.

"Er— there's Rowle, Harper, Hoop-boy Avery, Cokebottles Vaisey, Cleaning-charm girl, Montague, Dead-Eyes, and me."

"Eight," said Kit, "and there are about..." she counted on her fingers, "thirteen Hufflepuffs this year? It's not split evenly."

"The hat picks based on quality traits, not to fill a quota." said Felix.

"Eight times a thousand is eight thousand Slytherins, but some years may have more or fewer kids." Kit pursed her lips, "so, maybe ten thousand Slytherins ever? Except, there more people in Great Britain now than there were a hundred years ago."

"Less than eight thousand Slytherins, ever." said Colin, "okay, so _one_ of them might've been a muggleborn."

"Maybe," said Mallory, "it's not a big deal. I mean, I'm not _that_ excited about being the first."

"That's not his point, I think." said Colin, frowning. "If Selwyn knew of _other_ muggleborns in Slytherin who met sticky ends, don't you think he'd taunt you with it?"

That was a good point. "Maybe he never heard of them?"

"Maybe," said Kit, "but you know Dead-Eyes would find any excuse to scare someone."

If Selwyn knew about other Slytherin muggleborns, he'd say they all met sticky ends to scare her. Though, if Slytherins were _that_ obsessed with blood purity, they might deny muggleborn Slytherins ever existed.

Mallory shrugged. "Maybe." In truth, she _was_ a little disappointed that she might not be the first muggleborn in Slytherin. For all her life she'd been _special._ Now she was at a school where she was one of many. Being the _first_ muggleborn in Slytherin wasn't much of a consolation prize, but it was _something._

"This isn't about you," said Felix, exasperated. "It's about Darla Rowle. _She_ was the one who was murdered, not you."

"But her killer might be the Carver, and might want to tie up loose ends! And we don't know if students in the castle aren't working for him."

"Then just _avoid suspicious people._" Felix said, like Mallory was being supremely stupid.

Mallory gaped, trying to wrap her head around _that._ Only a _sneaky bad person_ would kidnap her. He was _joking_, right?

"You get a letter in the mail." said Mallory, tone flat and tight with irritation. "It contains a picture of your parents at gunpoint. It says that if you don't deliver some stranger to a location at a certain time, your family will die."

"There's only one right answer, there." said Felix, grim.

"I know that," said Mallory, "but— how many people d'you think would _really_ let their family die for a stranger?"

"But it's the right thing to do." Felix said, as if that explained everything. "If you allow yourself to be coerced this time, you open yourself to being coerced again and again."

"She's right, though." said Colin, "I don't think many people could. I couldn't."

"If Mallory stays, we're betting it all on the killer not caring about killing Mallory." said Kit.

"Yeah," said Colin, looking rather glum, "and we're guessing that Selwyn and his friends won't drag Mallory out into the woods for revenge."

And that was something Mallory hadn't even considered.

There was a minute of silence, where the four muggleborns at their table in study hall sat, contemplating their situation.

Mallory knew that the killer, whether or not he or she was the Carver, had _some_ reason to go after her. The hunter wouldn't like how his prey escaped him. If someone lured Mallory, Harper, and Rowle to that clearing, there was no guarantee they'd be satisfied with Rowle's death, alone. The real target might've been Mallory or Harper.

They could guess Mallory would run away. If they guessed she'd run, they'd be waiting for her once she left the castle.

If they guessed that _she'd_ guess this, then they'd blackmail or bribe students into luring her outside the castle.

If Mallory was really unlucky, the killer did _both._ They'd set up a win-win scenario, where they'd be waiting outside the castle _and_ have students hunting her down from within.

Depending on how much leverage and money the killer had, they could have _multiple students_ hunting Mallory down inside the school. Potentially, they could blackmail a professor. Adults had super dirty secrets that they never wanted getting out.

All it took was the right leverage.

"Running away makes sense." Colin said, hesitating. "At least until the aurors catch the killer."

"Yeah," said Kit. "But you're bonkers if you think getting yourself expelled is a good idea."

"I'm thinking of following the tracks." Mallory lowered her voice. She didn't know who could be listening. And now that she was _thinking_ about it, anyone in her class could be blackmailed. Dead-Eyes Selwyn hated her, and if _he_ overheard this conversation...

"The train tracks?" asked Felix.

"Yeah," Mallory said, and then immediately regretted it. Truth potions existed, and if Harper and Rowle could get their hands on the magical equivalent of steroids, then there was likely a way to get a hold of veritaserum.

Her enemy's minions could use the truth potion on her friends and then obliviate them. They wouldn't even _know_ they'd betrayed her secrets.

And if they didn't know, then they couldn't warn Mallory.

"You want to get back to London?" asked Colin.

"I—" Mallory's brain stuttered, "er—, okay, I'm not sure I should tell you. Because there are students in the castle who might be working for the Carver, and _every first year_ is seeing us sitting together right now."

"They don't know what we're talking about." said Felix, glancing around the room. No one was sitting near them, avoiding the muggleborns like the plague.

Instead, groups of students surrounded Vaisey and Montague. They were still huddled around and whispering to one another.

The only students _not_ gossiping were Weasley and her blonde-haired friend.

"What _else_ is everyone talking about?" asked Kit. "A student died. That's all anyone's going to be talking about for weeks."

"You can't keep secrets like that." said Colin.

"Someone could torture you, or use truth potion on you, and you might not even remember it, because memory charms exist in the wizarding world. I don't want to put you in more danger."

"What if we all stick together until you're safe and gone?" asked Kit.

"That could work," said Colin.

"Not if—" Mallory started.

"If a student tries to take us down, then there's a good chance _one_ of us will get away and tell a professor. Sticking together is safer."

"It's not safer for you." Mallory said. But he was right. If her friends stayed with her in the castle, the killer and his minions might have a harder time capturing her. And her friends would _already_ be targeted, if anyone gossiped about Mallory and her friends talking. The damage was already done.

Colin rolled his eyes. "You're going to London."

"To my parents house. It's south of London, way south. South Brent, in Dartmoor."

"On foot?" asked Kit, skeptical.

"No, I'm going to stop in the first police station I find."

"Oh," said Kit. "That might work."

"I'm coming with you." said Colin.

"Me too," said Kit, before Mallory could get a word in, edgewise.

"No you're not," said Mallory. "It's like you said, the Carver might be out there waiting for me."

"Right," said Colin, "and you need us with you if you're going to stand a chance."

"Colin—" Mallory gaped, "_all of you,_ no. No way, you can't." This was exactly why she wanted to leave them out of it. They were putting themselves in danger, and they wouldn't be able to do a _thing_ against the Carver. They'd die, and it'd be _all her fault._

"Of course I can," said Colin. And Kit and Felix nodded emphatically along with him. Like idiots who were about to get themselves _killed._

"No," said Mallory, voice firm. "Do you— did you know that the whole time I was out there in those woods, I kept thinking how bloody glad I was that you weren't there. I was so, _so_ glad, because it'd kill me to lose someone I like."

"I know a shortcut." argued Colin, "I know how to get to Dufftown— that's the nearest town to Hogwarts, and I have money to call a payphone with."

And damn if that didn't mitigate most of her fears about running away.

"But—" Mallory worried her lip, "you could _tell me_ where Dufftown is, and then you won't have to come along. You'll be safe."

"I don't have anything to bring to the table," said Kit, "and I'm _still_ coming. Do you think I'm going to miss out on a real adventure? This is what I came to magic school _for._"

"Actually," said Felix, "I think we should tell all this to an auror and let them—"

"No!" shouted the other three muggleborns, drawing the attention of half of the study hall for a moment.

When everyone went back to their own conversations, Mallory spoke again.

"You promise you won't tell anyone." ordered Mallory.

"Alright, I won't." said Felix, "but I _am_ coming with you. I can't make a promise not to tell in good conscience, if I don't."

"That's _blackmail!_" hissed Mallory.

Felix looked especially affronted, "it is not!"

"Is too!"

"I'd never blackmail someo—"

"It's the very _definition_ of blackmail!"

Colin clapped a hand over Mallory's mouth before they could continue arguing. She attempted to shake him off and one of his fingers went up her nostril. She squawked behind his hand and licked it.

"Ew!" squeaked Colin, "did you lick me?"

"It's not blackm—" Felix still wasn't shutting up, and Kit kicked Felix hard on the shins.

"Ow!" hissed Felix, "don't do that!"

"You're not narking." Kit threatened. "Not _ever._"

"Alright, okay, I won't!" said Felix, alarmed, "I wasn't going to, anyway."

Colin took his hand away from Mallory's mouth, wiping it on the side of his robes.

"You said—" Mallory broke off when Colin raised his hand again. Apparently, he was undeterred by saliva and snot.

"I said I'm coming with you." said Felix.

"We're all coming with you." echoed Kit.

"But I'm not leaving Hogwarts— I mean, we're all coming back after we take her to Dufftown, right?" asked Colin.

"Amazing school of magic," said Kit, nodding.

"And we should do it soon. How long does it take to get there and back? I don't want to be out too late. I need to start studying."

"Maybe two hours," said Colin, "it's only a few kilometres away."

"I'm not okay with this," said Mallory. Because it was eating her up, the thought of _that_ happening to Kit or Colin. She could imagine _Kit's_ face in place of Darla Rowle's, mouth open in perpetual shock and turned into a fucking _meat sculpture._

"I don't get how you think it's okay for me to run away, but you won't," her voice shook. "You're running straight towards danger." It _really_ ticked her off, if she was being honest with herself.

"Yeah, because—" he broke off, "because you're my _friend._"

"And you're _my_ friends." she said. "I don't want you in danger."

"Well, we're going." said Kit, "end of story." Her arms folded across her chest.

"What she said." said Colin.

"Fuck it." Mallory said, raising up her hands in defeat "fine."

She wasn't going to change their minds, and trying to stop them would be near impossible.

"If we're helping you run away, we need weapons." said Felix.

Mallory blinked. "Okay." On a list of things she expected to hear out of Felix's mouth, that wasn't even on it.

Colin shrugged, "I have a slingshot and a couple flashlights in my trunk."

"A _slingshot?_" said Mallory, disbelief coloring her tone. "I don't think we can—"

"Mallory wants to light the Carver on fire, I'll bet." said Kit.

Mallory balked at the idea, "I'm _really_ hoping we don't run into him, for what it's worth."

This right here was why she hadn't wanted to bring them along. A _slingshot_? They were seriously underestimating the danger they were in, if they thought a slingshot was enough firepower.

"If we _did_ though, don't tell me you're not lighting it on fire."

Mallory sighed and rolled her eyes, "it's the only spell I know that works." she paused for a moment, "Well, besides _lumos._ And I know the repairing spell, but every time I use it, it goes wrong."

"Exactly what I mean. What is it with you and fire?" Kit asked.

"Nothing. Back on topic, though," Mallory changed the subject, "I don't think a slingshot's gonna cut it."

"I know four spells," said Felix, "but I still think we should bring the slingshot. It'd serve as backup if our wands were taken away."

Kit stared at him with wide eyes. "you know four spells already? Can you show them to me? I don't know a single one!"

"Didn't you read your books over the summer?" asked Felix. "I couldn't put them down."

"Sure," said Kit, "but they're dead boring if you can't practice with a wand."

"Same," said Mallory, "and my parents even _took my wand._"

"Gee, I can't imagine why." quipped Colin.

"It's to keep everything fair." said Felix. "The professors don't want anyone to have an advantage."

Which meant Felix learned to successfully cast four spells in three days? That was impressive, even if he read all about them over the summer. Mallory read over her books, and promptly forgot almost all of it by the time she got to Hogwarts.

"Wow," said Colin, "that's good. Which ones did you learn?"

"I'm going in order from chapter one. Lumos, the levitation spell, the cleaning charm, and the cutting charm."

"The cutting charm might come in handy," said Colin. "Did you see the way that girl— the one with the glasses—" he was looking at Mallory.

It took her a moment to realize he was asking her.

"Cokebottles? Er— Vaisey." Mallory nodded, "Yeah. She tore a _chunk_ out of Dead-Eyes' desk."

"She tore a chunk out of _Dead-Eyes._" replied Colin.

"They've already started studying, so you should work on that too, Kit." said Felix.

Mallory snorted, "tell that to Harper and—" _Rowle,_ she cleared her throat, "Harper. He had a private tutor before Hogwarts."

"What?" hissed Felix.

"So did Macy Gibbon," said Kit, "she was telling everybody about all the magic she's done in the common room."

"Isn't that _illegal?_" asked Felix.

"I think so," said Colin, "but a lot of the Gryffindors knew spells, too. I think everyone ignores that rule."

Felix frowned, "we're going to have to work _extra_ hard to catch up. I'm going to bring some books with me."

"Are you going to read while you walk?" asked Kit, mildly amused.

"Yes." said Felix. He wasn't joking.

Mallory and Kit exchanged a _look._

"So we're all bringing bags?" asked Colin, presumably to change the subject before they could start nettling Felix.

"Yes." said Felix, Kit, and Mallory.

"Okay, we need to settle on the details." said Colin, "this period is almost up."

"We're not going hunting for the Carver." said Mallory.

"No, but we need to be prepared in case we run into it."

"Colin has a slingshot." said Kit, "and I have a bunch of snacks, and—"

"It'll get dark, so we'll need flashlights to see—" said Felix.

"And because you need light to read your books."

"That, too."

"We can use lumos." said Colin.

"Not near Dufftown," said Felix, "we can't do magic around muggles."

"Darn, right, I forgot."

"Flashlights, snacks," Kit was ticking it off on her fingers, "a slingshot, books to read—"

"We're looking out for an _evil murderer,_ I really don't know where we'll get time to read."

"I'm bringing my walkman," said Kit. "It'll get boring if the Carver doesn't show."

Mallory felt her heart sink. They were _doomed._

"Okay!" said Colin, almost shouting. "after lunch we grab everything we need and—"

The background noise that was their classmates gossiping and muttering about Rowle's death suddenly ceased.

Two guesses who was back.

Snape loomed in the doorway, arms folded with spidery hands resting atop stained robes. His lips were curled into a sneer, yellowed teeth flashing in the sunlight.

"_What_ are you doing?" he hissed.

Felix surreptitiously slipped his pen up his sleeve.

"Hunting Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, Professor." said the blonde haired girl that was sitting next to Weasley.

At that, at least half of the class started giggling. Mallory glanced over at Felix, brows furrowed. He wasn't looking at her, so she caught Kit's eye.

_What?_ she mouthed.

Kit shrugged.

"There is no such thing as a Crumple-Horned Snorkack, Miss Lovegood. Twenty points from Ravenclaw! Now return to your seat _at once!_"

Oh, so Miss Lovegood was telling Snape to fuck off. Hah. Mallory grinned at her friends, who were looking bemused and slightly confused.

"Miss Hopkins," said Snape. Oh fuck, what had she done _now?_

"Yes, _professor._" There might've been an excess of sarcasm there, which was only acceptable because she was leaving tonight, and would never have to see his greasy mug again.

"You're required by the Hospital Wing. Follow me." He turned around, robes flaring around him with the movement.

Mallory sent a wide-eyed look at her friends. They were undoubtedly thinking the same thing she was thinking, judging by their expressions.

Who else wanted Mallory gone more than the Head of Slytherin House?

He held a _deep_ disdain for anything muggle, hadn't cared one whit when Mallory reported the bullies, and now he was calling her away from the safety of the crowd.

Kit, Colin, and Felix glanced between each other, deciding in a moment what to do.

"Professor, I'd like to come with—" started Kit, only to be interrupted.

"You'll do no such thing, Miss Jennings." said Snape.

Colin raised his hand, "Professor? Before you go, I have to use the toilet."

"I need to go, as well." said Felix, barely able to get his voice above a mutter. He was turning red about the ears.

Mallory had a strong suspicion that their route to the toilets would _coincidentally_ take them straight to the Hospital Wing.

"Absolutely not," hissed Snape. "I'll have none of this. You will sit still, all of you, until I return."

Mallory sat there, frozen. Fuck, what should she do?

Yet, if Snape wanted her dead, if he wanted her dead—

He would've killed her already. He wouldn't pull her out of class, with all first year as witness, just to murder her.

Which meant he _wasn't_ trying to murder her, unless—

"Miss Hopkins! I will not repeat myself again."

Mallory stood up, collecting her bag and books. She risked a glance at Colin.

He nodded.

Fat chance that they'd be sitting quietly while Snape was gone. If he wanted to kidnap her, he'd have her friends to contend with, as well.

* * *

She wasn't dead nor was she kidnapped.

Throughout the entire trip to the Hospital Wing, Mallory kept an eye on Snape. She expected him to snatch her and drag her outside, maybe even kill her. But he never did.

Instead, Snape escorted her to a makeshift office by the Hospital Wing. It was here the Aurors were set up. Only this time, two strangers were standing next to trainee Tonks, instead of Moody.

"...as a personal favor to Lord Rowle." said the woman with the girlish, high-pitched voice. Her tone would be unremarkable, except for that she looked like an overgrown toad.

The woman was decked out in pink, from her squat witch's hat down to her pointy shoes, garish and frilly.

"Of course, undersecretary." said the dry voice of the new Auror. He was a tall man, black, with a deep voice and kind eyes.

"_Senior_ Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic." sniffed the Toad, her jowls wiggling.

Tonks, the trainee Auror who accompanied Moody yesterday, was sitting at the table—

Mallory did a double-take

—at the table which was covered in Mallory's things.

Why were the Aurors looking through the contents of her trunk?

Her things were spread across the stone floor, with a couple choice items— her walkman and some comic books— on the rickety table.

It was a small room, stone and windowless, with a single desk in the middle. An interrogation room.

Snape stood behind her, scowling down at Mallory like she'd done something to personally offend him.

"Professor Snape," the Toad smiled with her mouth. "you're here a tad early. No matter! We'll get this sorted in a jiffy."

She smiled with her mouth, but her eyes didn't crinkle. It was a fake smile, and not even a very good one.

The Toad took off her cloak— she _had_ just arrived, —placing it down across a chair.

This was odd. The Aurors questioned Mallory yesterday. They had no reason to do so again. More alarming was her trunk spread out across their table. Tonks was _looking through her things._

What did they expect to find?

"Hem hem," the Toad cleared her throat.

Senior Toady for the Minister for Magic was looking straight towards trainee Tonks. This was an unfortunate turn of events for the trainee, who wasn't paying her any mind at all.

Tonks was scribbling notes on a piece of parchment, with a large feathery quill. A long streak of ink was smeared across her face.

"Hem _hem,_" said the Toad again, and Mallory would've been amused.

She would've been laughing, were it not for the situation.

The twins. They'd given the Aurors her trunk? Why? Were they looking for evidence that Mallory's trunk was set on fire? Did they know about the conflicts between Rowle and Mallory? Surely they didn't think—

"What?" Tonks looked up, eyes flicking between the Auror and the Toad.

"You must be the new trainee," said Toad, words syrupy-sweet. "It's nice to meet Moody's new ...protégé."

Poor Tonks was treated with another of the Toad's fake smiles.

She looked bemused. "Nice to meet you, too. I'm Tonks." The girl held out her hand to shake the Toad's.

"Tonks?" said the Toad, taking a step back. She made no move to take Tonk's hand. "not a _wizarding_ name, Tonks, is it?"

Tonks' bright bubblegum pink hair turned a violent shade of maroon, as the girl clenched her fists at her sides.

Mallory's eyes flicked over to the Auror, who was subtly reaching into his robes for his wand.

"No," Tonks gave Toad a sharp grin, "my dad's a muggle."

And Mallory instantly approved of Tonks, in spite of how _obviously_ stupid it was to backchat the Prime Minister's secretary. Undersecretary. Did that mean she was secretary to the Prime Minister's secretary? Mallory cared little for politics.

The Toad's upper lip curled in disgust, eyes bulging in their sockets. She quickly turned away to face Snape and Mallory.

"Professor Snape!" her face split into that wide hollow grin. "Lucius Malfoy says such good things about you."

Snape gave the Toad a thin smile, and inclined his head.

"My mum's sister," interrupted Tonks, "she was Bellatrix Black."

Mallory had taken her eyes off Tonks, distracted by the great pale Toad leering down at them. But Tonks was quietly furious in her seat, glaring up at Umbridge.

Her tone and body language was combative. The words _fuck you_ were implied, though Mallory didn't know why Tonk's aunt was significant.

"Oh Miss Tonks," spoke the Toad, "surely you did not intend to bring up your _criminal_ of an aunt?"

"I thought since you didn't like how my dad's a mug—"

"Enough!" said the Auror. "Trainee Tonks, one more outburst and you'll have to wait outside. Madame Umbridge, I do apologize."

The Toad smiled, "I'll speak with the Head of the Department. The standards at the Auror Academy must be slipping, and the Minister can't have that."

A pin could've dropped.

"I wouldn't want to waste your time." the Auror was backpedaling, "I know you're an important woman—"

"It's really no bother, Kingsley." Umbridge's smile spread, eyes crinkling. Oh, she was _enjoying_ this. She was enjoying the Auror's discomfort.

A sadist.

The situation, with Mallory's trunk and Senior Toady's presence were looking increasingly dismal.

"The Auror department can handle it, Senior Undersecretary." said Auror Kingsley, firm. "And I'd like to move this interview along."

The Toad's bulging cheeks deflated, twisting into a vicious scowl.

Umbridge took a short breath, before turning to face Snape and Mallory.

"Now," she smiled at Mallory, bright and cheerful, "Miss Hopkins, I need you—" she cleared her throat, "the _Ministry of Magic_ needs your help."

"Okay." Mallory said, tone flat.

"We need to know— and this is of _vital_ importance, so listen closely— why your trunk was with Miss Farley's things. Could you tell us that?"

And that was not what she was expecting, not at all.

"What?" Mallory gaped, "no it wasn't."

Her brain skipped tracks and did a double take. What was this? A trap? A frame-up?

"Your trunk was found in an unauthorized laboratory that Miss Farley had ...appropriated. Now, if you've been involved in something," she breathed, "_naughty_, you most definitely should tell us. The Ministry of Magic _will_ uncover the truth, and it will only be more unpleasant, if you're found to be lying." said Umbridge, shaking her head slowly as though to emphasize how _bad_ it would be to lie.

For once, Mallory wasn't lying, not even a little bit.

"I'm not." said Mallory, and she could feel the blood draining out of her face. "I don't know a thing about it, I swear."

Umbridge tsked, and turned away to face Auror Kingsley, "If we could, perhaps, expedite this—"

"She was given two drops of veritaserum yesterday." said Snape, "I cannot advise the use of it, again, so soon."

"Ah," said Umbridge, and that sinister smile spread to her eyes. "Well, perhaps we should put her in a holding—"

"I didn't give my trunk to Farley." Mallory said, speaking over her. Her mind was racing. "I dunno why she has it. I—"

The twins would be furious, but _a holding cell?_ Fucking _sadist._

"I gave it to Fred and George Weasley." Mallory said. "They were going to put protection charms on it for m—"

"Silencio." Umbridge whipped out her wand. "I was going to say, before I was _rudely interrupted—_"

Mallory gave the Toad a baleful glare.

"The muggleborn has been in two or more violent altercations with the young Miss Darla Rowle. It's only prudent to consider her a suspect."

Mallory stomped her foot, waving towards her face. This was bullshit! She had nothing to do with it!

"Senior Undersecretary," Auror Kingsley spoke with an irritated sigh, "Miss Hopkins isn't a suspect in this case. She's a victim here, too." He said it like he'd had to repeat this argument more than twice today, already.

Mallory's bad feeling about this was getting worse.

"That filthy little beast hit the girl with her _bare fists!_" hissed Umbridge, "like some kind of— of _wild animal!_" the woman's voice rose in pitch, shrill and grating. Her jowls wobbled, frog-eyes bulging out their sockets.

After _that_, Kingsley shot a spell at Mallory. She tried twisting away, this time on guard for magic cast at her, but she wasn't anywhere near fast enough.

And now Mallory was deaf and mute.

She couldn't hear a word of what the adults were saying. There was a small but growing part of her that was _panicking._

Mallory was rubbish at lip-reading.

Toady Umbridge looked enraged. Her arms folded across her chest, shoulders raised. Defensive. Cheeks red, so she was embarrassed or her blood pressure was up.

Red cheeks can also mean angry, and the rest of Umbridge looked furious. Her nostrils flared, eyes bulging, and her lips twisted with displeasure.

Given the woman's position on Mallory, angry was good news. Angry meant Mallory wasn't tossed in _jail._

Auror Kingsley, unfortunately, didn't look happy, either. His lips were downturned, brows furrowed in an expression that best translated to _"I think you're a giant idiot."_ It was a fair assessment, in Mallory's opinion.

But his arms were folded, too. And Mallory wondered if Umbridge was threatening to go the head of his department, again.

Snape, beside Mallory, was impossible to read.

His eyes were blank, there was no motion in the lip area, not even a sneer. He could've been made from stone.

Tonks, however, was looking at Mallory.

The trainee Auror glanced over at Umbridge, and then back to Mallory. Then she _winked._

What.

Did that mean it was going well? Or did Tonks not want to distress her?

Mallory widened her eyes a bit glancing back and forth between Tonks and the arguing adults, a plea if there ever was one. _Pay attention to what's going on, and react accordingly so I know what's happening!_

Instead, the girl transformed her nose into that of a duck's, which had Mallory blinking in shock. Granted, it wasn't _the_ most shocking thing she'd seen, but—

And now Tonk's nose was a pig's!

Oh, the girl was trying to distract her, because things were going _that badly._

Mallory felt stricken, and it must've showed on her face because Tonks drew back, vaguely guilty.

Umbridge was saying something, gesturing at Mallory. Her upper lip was raised, and she kept making a face — disgust — every time she glanced over at Mallory. Disgust or contempt, she couldn't really tell. It wasn't a friendly face.

Auror Kingsley looked exasperated. He kept rolling his eyes and shaking his head. As the conversation went on, his brow furrowed and he frowned.

At one point, Snape joined in, but the only emotion she got off of him was disdain.

"...too advanced..." said Kingsley's lips, "...eleven year old ... do..."

And Umbridge responded with something about money?

Someone was paying her?

Her heart started pounding in her chest. Fuck. She shouldn't have come here. She'd been careless, thinking her friends would have her back, but what could they do?

Umbridge's face went an ugly shade of puce, from the tips of her ears down her neck.

And now Kingsley was looking rather smug, if not dismissive.

Had he _won?_

He pointed his wand at Mallory. She took a step back, preparing to jump out of the way—

A moment later, the _silencio_ and muffling spells vanished. Mallory could hear and speak again.

"I didn't do it!" Mallory said, before they could say another word. "I don't know how my trunk got there and I don't know why Farley had it and—"

"Silence!" hissed Snape.

"We just have a couple questions, and then you can go." said Auror Kingsley.

What? Oh. He _had_ won the argument. She wasn't a suspect? Or were they luring her into a false sense of security?

"Okay." Mallory said.

Snape sneered, "speak out of turn again and you'll have earned yourself another detention."

How the _fuck_ was that speaking out of turn?

"I'll tell you, Professor Snape," said Umbridge, breathless, "these naughty children need a firm hand. If they were properly punished for their indiscretions, we wouldn't be facing this situation."

"Yes, _thank you,_ Madame Senior Undersecretary," said Auror Kingsley, with no small amount of irritation.

"_Well_," said Umbridge, "you said you gave your trunk to a Weasley?"

"Fred and George." Mallory said, "the twins. They took it to a room behind a mirror. They said it was their secret lair."

"I see." she tsk-tsk'd, shaking her head. "And what would the young Weasley boys need with a _lair?_"

Umbridge put special emphasis on the word _lair._ Was there some sinister significance to that word? Mallory wasn't about to get the Twins in _more_ trouble, not before she could sit down and figure out what all this _meant._

"I— er, I misspoke. It was..." Mallory searched for a good word, "a clubhouse. I don't know."

"Well, it appears it wasn't _only_ their ...lair. What can you tell me about Gemma Farley?"

"She's a seventh year prefect." Mallory chewed on her lip. "She isn't very nice."

"Have you seen her interact with Darla Rowle at all?"

Mallory's eyes widened, "you think Farley did it?"

"Detention!" hissed Snape.

"Now really," said Auror Kingsley, "that isn't necessary."

"I assure you, Mr. Shacklebolt, it is."

Mallory rolled her eyes. "Farley was there at the Initiation, and she and this other Hooded Figure said a bunch of mean things to Rowle. They did that to me, too. And Harper."

"All three students kidnapped were scolded by Miss Farley and a— a ..._Hooded Figure?_" Umbridge's bulbous eyes grew bigger, if that were possible.

"Yeah." said Mallory. Snape didn't speak up, so she guessed _that_ didn't count as speaking out of turn.

Umbridge looked like someone just handed her the keys to her very own frog palace.

"Oh _no,_ the Minister won't like _this._" she said, voice trembling with some suppressed emotion, "he won't like it _one bit._"

Mallory didn't say anything. She had no idea _what_ was going on.

Kingsley Shacklebolt cleared his throat, "Miss Hopkins, did they speak about any Dark Lords, blood purity, or the dark mark?"

"Oh no you don't!" hissed Umbridge, "the Minister has heard enough of this nonsense. I should've known Dumbledore would've— the _nerve_ of that man!"

"I don't know what a dark mark is," said Mallory, "but they weren't talking about dark lords. Farley wanted me to kiss her boots, and said some shi- stuff about me knowing my place."

"Did anyone use dark magic?" asked Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"What counts as dark magic?"

"Spells that do great harm."

"I don't—" then she thought for a moment, "Farley used a supersenory charm on me. And a bunch of people cast cutting charms—"

"You will cease this line of questioning at _once!_" said Umbridge. "I know what this is, and I won't have any part in it."

"I don't know what you mean, Senior Undersecretary." said Auror Shacklebolt, voice dry.

"This _Dark Lord_ of his, oh no, he is _not_ risen! All this nonsense with the stone and that teacher! No, I will _not_ have it!"

Mallory blinked. Oh-kay, Senior Undertoad Umbridge was insane. That explained a lot.

"No one is saying _anything_ about Death Eaters, Dolores." said Snape.

Umbridge whirled on Mallory, grabbing her by the shoulders. Her nails dug into Mallory's injured arms.

"Get off me!" Mallory shrieked, squirming as the Toad's sharp nails dug into the cuts on her shoulder.

"Who told you to lie about Death Eaters!" she hissed, foul breath in Mallory's face, "was it Dumbledore?"

"No one's said anything!" Mallory screamed, mind blank and _panicking_.

"Release her at once!" Snape thundered, while Kingsley Shacklebolt and Tonks both yelled in the background.

Within a moment, Mallory was released and standing behind Snape's billowing robes.

"I think," hissed Snape, "this interview has ended."

Umbridge looked between them, nostrils flared, and spat, "the Minister will hear about this! Mark my words!" Spittle flew from her lips.

Her hair was coming loose out of it's strict up-do, strands sticking to her face. She was breathing through her mouth, great gasping heaves between clenched teeth, pink lipstick smeared across the white.

The Great Undertoad then snatched up her cloak and stormed out the room, heels clicking sharply on stone. She slammed the door behind her so hard it rattled in its frame.

Mallory shuddered, "she's _bonkers._"

"_Detention_, Miss Hopkins." hissed Snape.

Fuck, she hadn't realized she said that out-loud.

"Completely bonkers," said Tonks, sneaking a conspiratorial grin at Mallory.

Auror Shacklebolt rolled his eyes, then shook his head.

Mallory was fighting down a grin, the come-down after a serious jolt of adrenaline. _Holy fuck._

Tonks glanced back at Mallory, saw her suppressed grin, and started giggling. That got Mallory giggling, starting off a chain reaction.

For Mallory, it was sheer _relief._ She wasn't going to jail, the Great Undertoad hadn't won. Relief, coupled with incredulity. That was the most ridiculous adult Mallory ever had the displeasure to meet.

Shortly after, it went from chortling to full-out laughing. Auror Shacklebolt was looking away, but Mallory could see the crinkles around his eyes. His shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter.

The only one unamused was Snape.

"I believe we're done here." Snape spoke, dour as ever.

"Ah, not quite yet," said Auror Shacklebolt. "There are rumors that you accused young Master Selwyn of Miss Rowle's murder. Is this true?"

Shit. Mallory took a moment to get her thoughts back in order, "I thought he might've done it. He said a bunch of stuff in class about how he wanted to hurt me. But Hoop- er- Avery said he couldn't have, so-"

"I see." the Auror frowned, "what did he say?"

"That I ought to shut up or he'll curse me."

Auror Shacklebolt snorted. "Right. Nevermind. Miss Hopkins, in the future don't accuse people of crimes you know they didn't commit, especially as they get older and can seek legal recourse against you." the Auror glanced over at Snape, "I think that'll be all. Professor Snape, you may escort your young charge back to class. No need for the girl to miss more of her classes on our account."

"Of course," said Snape.

"Auror Shacklebolt?" asked Mallory, hesitating. "can I have my trunk back, now?"

"Your— oh." The Auror rubbed the back of his neck. "Trainee Tonks, are you done with it?"

Tonks shrugged, "sure, I mean, yeah."

Two flicks of her wand and the trunk packed itself back up. Mallory was relieved, because this cut one step out of her plan to leave. She had been dreading chasing down Fred and George.

"If you like Black Sabbath," said Tonks, "check out Nirvana."

Snape sneered, "keep your muggle influences out of Hogwarts, Miss Tonks."

"It's _trainee_ Tonks," sniffed Tonks, morphing her skin frog-green. Her eyes grew bulbous and yellow.

Mallory let out a bark of laughter, and Auror Shacklebolt looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head.

"How _droll,_" said Snape.

Mallory gave herself points for not bursting into laughter, again. She grinned crookedly at Tonks, "it was nice meeting you."

"Nice meeting you too, Black Sabbath."

"And thanks Auror Shacklebolt, for not letting her er— arrest me." She almost said _toadify me_, but changed her mind last second.

"Your welcome, Miss Hopkins."

"Get moving." said Snape.

And Mallory took that as her cue to exit the interrogation room. Her trunk clattered on the stone floor, as she followed Snape back to the study hall.

* * *

Except outside the interrogation room, a Gryffindor and two Hufflepuffs were tangled in a heap on the floor.

They would've remained hidden in a convenient alcove, except Kit shifted and accidentally bumped Felix.

Felix, thrown off balance, tripped over his own two feet straight into Colin. And with that, the whole team tumbled onto the floor.

"Jennings, Creevey and Underwood," hissed Snape, "just _what_ are you doing here?"


	13. The Cracklewood Carver Part 4

_Except outside the interrogation room, a Gryffindor and two Hufflepuffs were tangled in a heap on the floor._

_They would've remained hidden in a convenient alcove, except Kit shifted and accidentally bumped Felix._

_Felix, thrown off balance, tripped over his own two feet straight into Colin. And with that, the whole team tumbled onto the floor._

_"Jennings, Creevey and Underwood," hissed Snape, "just _what_ are you doing here?"_

* * *

"Well, er—" stuttered Colin, from his place on the floor.

Felix sprawled onto his back, ears red. It was Kit who stood up, brushing the dust off her knees. They were all looking winded and slightly ruffled, like they'd been in a tussle.

"We got lost, Professor." said Kit, "we were trying to find the toilet."

Kit, brave Kit, looked Snape right in the eye with the sweetest most innocent expression on her face. Mallory wanted to applaud her, or do a little gleeful dance. She was _never_ letting Kit and Danny meet. A lit match and petrol was an understatement.

"Likely story," Snape scoffed, ignoring the _skillful_ performance by Mallory's new favorite friend.

"It's true!" said Colin, unsurprisingly unconvincing. "We were looking for the toilets."

"Were you all going to the boy's or girl's toilet?" asked Snape, thin lips curling into a scornful smile.

Kit, Felix, and Colin looked at one another.

"Er—"

"Cease your pathetic excuses." snapped Snape.

Mallory, barely a meter behind Snape, took it upon herself to get them out of trouble.

She made a series of gestures, pointing at herself and crossing her hands across her neck. _Blame me!_

Colin and Kit both looked confused, and Felix frowned. They weren't getting the message.

Snape stared at the three blankly for a moment, then spun around.

His eyes narrowed.

"I'm not a _fool_, Miss Hopkins." he said. "Twenty points from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, each. You're ungroomed and out of bounds. And Miss Hopkins? You've earned yourself another week of detentions. Be _grateful_ it isn't more. In my time they caned students for less."

It was as if his mind worked out the most wicked thing to do at any given moment, then decided to do exactly that. She boiled with frustration.

Her clever plan to distract his rage away from her friends hadn't worked. Thank goodness she wasn't staying. Then she'd actually have to attend all his fucking detentions.

She gave her friends an apologetic look, but none of them seemed to understand. She'd have to explain later.

Snape cast a spell, frowned, and then looked over at the four first years. "Get on to lunch, no dallying. Study hall is over."

With that, he stalked off to torment more first years.

Kit immediately tackled her, ponytail whipping Mallory across the cheek. "What _happened_?"

"Hullo Mallory," squeaked Mallory, a tad breathless, "how are you? Oh no, I noticed you're bleeding."

Kit squished her again, narrowing her eyes.

"Hullo Mallory," Kit mimicked her, "how are you?"

"Bleeding." Mallory snarked, rubbing her arm. She glanced behind them, looking for the Undertoad. "A giant _toad_ clawed my arm."

When the Grand Undertoad clutched Mallory and shook her, she re-opened the cuts on her arms. The sting made her eyes water. It didn't help that Mallory smelled worse than a ripe sewer on a hot day, thanks to her run-in with that shelf of vitrified critters.

She suspected Kit had no sense of smell, because Colin and Felix were staying far back.

"A toad?" asked Colin, "You mean the woman?"

It said a great deal about Mallory's assessment of her, that Colin knew exactly who she referred to when she said _toad._

"She went _nuts_," said Mallory, "completely bonkers!"

"We heard," said Felix, "we were listening at the door."

"When she stormed, out, she _almost_ hit us with the door." Kit grinned, eyes glittering.

"Did you _hear what they said?_" Mallory asked, burning with curiosity. The aurors made Mallory temporarily deaf— no doubt to spare her from whatever vile things spewed out of that toad's mouth— but that left Mallory to _imagine_ what the toad woman said.

Mallory had quite the imagination.

"Yes," said Felix, "they were awful."

"No, no," Mallory shook her head, "you have to tell me. They muffled my hearing and made me mute!"

"Oh, so _that's_ what happened." said Kit, a sly grin across her face.

Mallory glared, crossing her arms. "what are you saying?"

"Mallory has _how_ many detentions for giving the professors lip, now?" asked Kit.

Felix frowned, "at least a dozen, likely more."

"Only because Snape won't listen and—"

"Weren't we going to lunch?" interrupted Colin. He showed no signs of amusement. His eyes were downcast, shoulders a tad slumped.

Mallory furrowed her brow, "yeah, sure."

Was it the house points lost?

Maybe he was still mad about Selwyn and the Incident in the Potions Classroom. She wasn't sure, and kept an eye on him as she puzzled it out.

They started towards the Great Hall, walking at a snail's pace. The corridors were bright and cheerful, sunlight warming the stone floor. There were distant clouds on the horizon, skimming the tops of the trees. Mallory stared out the windows, enjoying the view.

She might not get to see it, again.

Colin folded his arms, walking three steps ahead of her. "That lady, you know, I can't believe what she was saying."

"What'd she say?" Mallory asked, eyes sharpening.

"She kept talking about filth and animals every time she said your name." said Colin, his voice grew quiet, "and you know those purebloods?" his voice cracked, "they always say 'filthy mudbloods,' or 'beastly mudbloods,' so we all knew what she really meant."

Colin, in Gryffindor, was insulated from slimy underbelly of the school. She rather expected all this business with Umbridge and Snape was a shock to him. Maybe even more shocking than a student dying. Everyone knows about serial killers and murder from the telly. But she doubted Colin ever experienced someone hating muggleborns like that.

It was disconcerting.

"Yeah," Mallory nodded. She'd laughed, but it was due to the shock of it. Never before had an adult laid a hand on her like that. None of the teachers and school, not her parents, not anyone.

There was a moment there, when her brain went blank and she hadn't known _what_ to do.

"She was saying it without saying it," said Kit, looking uncharacteristically glum.

"She's the Grand Undertoad," said Mallory, with some finality. It was a poor attempt to add humor to a miserable situation.

The Toad would be back, that was for certain. The Grand Undertoad was prickly and full of pride. A person like that would _never_ stand for such a humiliation.

"And she's working for the Rowle family," said Felix, "they want her to find answers, fast answers. Umbridge doesn't seem to care if they're the right ones."

Which was fairly in line with what Mallory expected.

"The guy," said Colin, "he said something about whomever killed Rowle had to know necromancy, so it couldn't have been you or Harper."

"What's necromancy?" asked Mallory.

"In Dungeons and Dragons," said Felix, "it means death magic, the revival of the dead and spreading of disease."

"In _The Evil Dead_," quipped Kit, giving Felix a look of supreme disgust, "it means reviving zombies with the necro-whatsit book."

Mallory crinkled her nose, "but they _killed_ Rowle, they didn't bring her back to life."

"Maybe he killed her to bring her back to life as a zombie, bound to his will." said Kit.

Mallory's stomach lurched, her mind's eye immediately illustrating what that might look like.

_Rowle's corpse lit by the fire, blood sluggishly dribbling out the gaps between twigs._

"Okay, stop talking," said Mallory, "I'm going to throw up."

She stared at the stone floor, breathing through her nose. She was _not_ thinking about the forest. She was thinking about the stone floor, with it's pits and grooves and sun-bleached —

_— individual pools were merging together, sharing the same fluids. Mallory was standing in Rowle's diluted blood —_

The blood rushing in her skull sounded like static in her ears, and Mallory's skin felt clammy and crawling with horror.

"Oh, god," Mallory croaked, "distract me. _Please._"

"I brought my set of walkie-talkie's from home, so have them in case we get separated." spoke Colin, in a rush.

Mallory breathed in and out. Walkie-talkies. Good. "That's useful," she murmured.

Kit tugged her, looping her arm around Mallory's and squeezing her hand.

"I'm grabbing _all_ the food at lunch." said Kit. "As much food as we can carry, just in case."

"And we're grabbing some steak knives, if they have any." said Colin.

"Are we bringing your trunk?" asked Felix. "Because we can ask a prefect to cast a featherlight charm on it. That way, if we need to run, it won't slow us down."

"She could just let go of it." said Kit, squeezing her hand again.

"The featherlight charm's a good idea," replied Mallory. "Thanks."

Kit at her side and the bright sunlight warm on the bridge of her nose did much to dispel the memories. As Mallory's calming potion wore off, she had to devote more energy to keeping thoughts of the Forest away.

"Who's Farley?" asked Felix.

That question finally got Mallory thinking on what happened in the Interrogation Room. She'd been distracted before, unsure of the danger she was in and what The Grand Undertoad might do to her.

"She's a seventh year Slytherin Prefect. At the Initiation, she lead the ceremonies, said a whole load of waffle about Slytherin being the best. Then she made us — all the first years — hit each other with spells on pain of horrible torture."

"Holy smokes!" gasped Colin.

"I know!" said Mallory, "it was awful, and I had no idea what to do—" Mallory blinked, a thought coming to her mind.

"Oh fuck, Fred and George are working with Farley!" she groaned, "_that's_ why the Grand Undertoad was saying my trunk was in her lair, because it _was_ in her lair— they _share_ it."

"And the Aurors think Farley's responsible." said Felix.

"She's a suspect, that's for sure." agreed Mallory.

"Oh-kay," said Kit, drawing out her vowels, "but why would she want to kill Rowle?"

"I don't know." said Mallory, "but— I didn't think of it before, but all three of us, Harper, me, and Rowle— we were called out by Farley for being un-Slytherin."

"You think Rowle was killed for not being Slytherin enough?" Colin gaped.

"I don't know," Mallory shrugged, "but it _is_ weird."

This was another situation where she needed her parents. They'd know what to do about Farley and how to avoid getting into trouble with the law.

Snape, her supposed _guardian_ in the wizarding world, didn't give two shits about her. Dumbledore might care, but according to The Grand Undertoad, he was losing favor with the public.

That loss of favor could translate to a loss in power. There was a good chance he wouldn't want to expend his dwindling capital on a single muggleborn.

Which left her in a lurch.

A lurch that the combined powers of mum, dad, and Danny could beat, if only they were here.

Mum was all kinds of clever, and dad was good at sounding firm and commanding. Mallory and Danny would do the strategy, and in no time at all everything would be well again. That foul toad would crawl back under the rock from when-st she spawned.

"Kinglsey said that someone named Moody said that the killer used necromancy." said Kit, "and that they're bringing in a special person to look into it."

"This was when I couldn't hear anything?" asked Mallory.

"Yeah," said Colin, "and the Auror said that a first year can't cast death magic, so I don't think you're in any trouble."

"He said that a _muggleborn_ first year couldn't." corrected Kit, sounding sour.

Mallory almost laughed. Oh, so _that's_ why the Toad's face twisted into such a nasty shape. Kingsley turned her own argument around on her.

"You play dungeons and dragons?" asked Colin, looking at Felix.

"No," said Felix, "no one at home knew how to play." his tone was more challenging than necessary. Mallory wondered if what he meant was that no one wanted to play with _him._

"Wait," said Felix, stopping dead in the middle of the corridor, "we're forgetting something."

"What?" asked Mallory.

"We need to warn Harper before we leave." said Felix. "He might be in danger."

She hadn't even thought of that.

But Felix was right, Harper was in danger.

If someone was picking off Mallory, Rowle, and Harper in particular, for any reason, then Harper might be next. She'd brushed off Montague before, when he babbled on about Harper. But now that she had time to think about it—

"He's still in the Hospital Wing, I think." Mallory said. She felt embarrassed. She hadn't even considered telling him.

* * *

It took ten minutes, but eventually they decided to split up. Felix and Kit would get food in the Great Hall and pack their bags with supplies. While they did that, Mallory and Colin would warn Harper.

They'd all meet in a half hour at the bottom of the Grand Staircase, ready to go.

The walkie-talkies would be left behind, as would the slingshot. Colin's dorm was all the way on the other side of the castle and up seven flights of stairs. It'd take far too long to retrieve it, and time was of the essence.

* * *

Harper was still in the hospital wing, and he wasn't alone.

Seven students crowded around Harper's bed. The nurse was going to have a conniption, when she saw.

Of the seven, Mallory recognized most of them. Hoop-boy Avery was sitting on a wicker chair by Harper's bed. Harper's legs were being employed as a makeshift desk for a game of cards.

Not a game, Mallory realized as they walked closer. Avery was dealing out cards from a collection of inexplicably stained and warped cards.

Tarot cards.

Was _that_ what he meant by his secret way of telling if more students would die?

Vaisey was leaning over Avery's shoulder, cokebottle glasses glinting in the light. He didn't look too happy about her presence, and kept inching away from her in his seat.

"The ten of swords," Avery put down the card, "you'll be betrayed, followed by—"

"Rubbish." huffed the boy leaning against one of the other beds.

Avery ignored him, flipping the next card, "followed by the Tower, the betrayal will result in a fall."

"From a high tower," scoffed the boy, "you know what this means?"

"You're going to tell me," said Avery, with no small amount of scorn. They had yet to notice Mallory and Colin's slow approach.

"It means Harper's getting pushed off the Astronomy tower!" the boy crowed.

"Yeah, yeah, huck it up," snorted Montague, "you wouldn't be laughing if those were _your_ cards."

"Yes," said Vaisey, "but what _does_ it mean?"

"It means something bad is coming, and there isn't much we can do about it." said Avery.

"The Cracklewood Carver?" Vaisey asked, eyes narrowed.

"I've no idea." said Avery, with his usual nonchalance.

Vaisey picked that moment to glance up, and stiffened upon seeing Mallory and Colin.

"Go away." she hissed, "you're not wanted here."

The other kids looked up, faces twisted in various expressions of dislike. Cleaning-charm girl was sitting on the floor, eyes averted. Her legs were tucked under her bum, hands folded in her lap.

Montague was outright glaring, and Vaisey looked like she wanted to slice someone with one of her cutting charms.

More specifically, she looked like she wanted to slice up _Mallory._

"Harper," said Mallory, craning her neck to look around Vaisey. "We need to talk. It's important."

"Bugger off, mudblood." said the boy who scoffed at the tarot cards. He wasn't a Slytherin, Mallory didn't recognize him.

"We don't want you here," said another kid, "if you don't go, we'll tell a teacher."

"It's really important, Harper." Mallory said, ignoring the other kids.

"Then say it." said Harper, who was sitting up in bed with dark circles under his eyes. He looked like how she felt.

"Er—" Mallory glanced at the small crowd of students glaring at her, "I'm not sure I should say it in front of your friends."

"Selwyn hasn't killed anyone," said Avery, "yet. Though he might make you his first if you keep mouthing off about it."

This already wasn't going as planned.

She hadn't expected for there being a crowd around Harper's bed. In fact, Mallory would've bet money that all his classmates besides for Montague would abandon him entirely. Except, it seemed that wasn't the case.

Seven students crowded around his bed, seven new variables.

Any one of them might be bewitched by her Enemy. And that wasn't even accounting for the opportunists who would find the revelation of Mallory or Harper's vulnerability tempting. The wrong words spoken in the right place could mean her end.

The Enemy might not _know_ Mallory knew she was in danger. They might not _know_ she'd guessed they have agents in the school. Right now, her knowledge was her only weapon.

"I'm not talking about that." Mallory huffed. "I haven't told _my_ friends, either. Not because I don't want them to know, but because it's _dangerous._"

She wished Colin was a better actor, because instead of showing solidarity or a firm nod to show he agreed with what Mallory was saying, he looked confused.

Harper sat up slowly in his bed, brow furrowed.

"You're lying." said Montague.

"Maybe," said Mallory, "but I'm telling you I _know_ something, and your _life_ might depend on you knowing it, too."

She couldn't say _I saved your life_ in front of his friends. He'd be honor-bound to tell her to fuck off if she did. She knew how these things went. He'd be humiliated.

Saved by a _mudblood_ was worse in the wizarding world, than _saved by a girl_ was in the normal world. Embarrassing wouldn't begin to cover it.

"My life." said Harper, as though the words were something foul on his tongue.

"Yeah," Mallory flicked her eyes over to Avery and his tarot cards, "I know more than those cards, at least."

Harper looked away.

"How about this," said Mallory, "I'll tell you what I know, and afterwards, you can decide whether to tell your friends."

"But you don't want me to." said Harper.

"I think _you_ won't want you to, to keep them safe."

"Let me guess," said Vaisey, "you're going to accuse one of us of killing Rowle."

"The more people that know, the more people in danger." Mallory stayed calm. If that's what they thought, then all the better. A good mouthful of misinformation fed right into her Enemy's maw.

"What _kind_ of danger?" asked Montague.

"I really can't say." Mallory said.

There was a pause.

Harper looked between Mallory's steady gaze, and the suspicious glances of his twitchy friends. Then he glanced back between them again, scowling.

"Just—" Harper broke off, "it's fine." He waved his friends off.

Vaisey's hands curled into fists, "she's going to lie."

Harper scoffed, "I _saw_ what happened, so she can't trick me like that."

Yes, and Mallory knew he knew that, which meant he knew that she couldn't lie about anything they saw. She would've pointed it out, but there was no need to _oversell_ her case.

Besides, she wasn't about to correct his friends' faulty assumptions. Telling Harper was the right thing to do, just like splitting up into teams to save time was the sensible thing to do.

It didn't make it any less risky.

Kit and Felix could tell the professors her plan while Mallory spoke to Harper. And Harper might choose to _tell_ his friends what she was planning. If he did, she'd lose her advantage.

Harper's friend's cleared off to the other side of the Hospital Wing. Colin went with them when Mallory nudged him. Twice.

She fought very hard to keep the irritation off her face as she sat in the seat Avery vacated, pushing aside his cards.

Harper didn't meet her eye, "what's..." he breathed out, "why are you here?"

He looked _way_ worse than she did.

Mallory picked up one of Avery's discarded tarot cards, fiddling the edge.

"The aurors called me in to interrogate me, and I overheard some things, besides." Mallory started, thinking how she was going to proceed. The whole trip down to the Hospital Wing she had to puzzle out how she'd handle this.

Now that she was here, she was less certain. The addition of the seven friends was a wrench in her plans. She hadn't accounted for those variables.

"So was I." his eyes were on the card, seemingly unable to look her in the eye.

"We don't _really_ know what happened in the woods that night," said Mallory.

Harper glanced up at her face, "we don't."

Mallory nodded, "memory charms, false-memory charms, you said it before when we were all talking— before— you know."

"You think it's one of the seventh years," he said it almost dismissively, and turned away.

"I don't know." Mallory shook her head, "I have a few ideas, but it boils down to how I'm not sure the aurors are looking in the right direction. They're talking about the Carver and necromancy, but what if this was about us?"

"You, you mean." said Harper, "we followed _you._"

"If an adult wanted to teleport _only_ me, they could've done it. They chose to move _all of us_ to the forest."

She didn't know if that was true, but it was better for him to believe that lie. If he thought Rowle's death was Mallory's fault, he might try to screw her over.

She didn't know how close Rowle and Harper were, before Rowle died.

"What?"

"Apparate, teleport, whatever—" Mallory rolled her eyes, "all three of us were there on purpose, and we have no clue why. But we can _guess._"

Harper sat up, and gave her a flat look, "and why won't I want to tell my friends this? You're not telling me anything I don't already know."

Mallory flipped over the card. The tower. A betrayal followed by a fall.

She drew another card from the messy pile, and placed them both in front of Harper as she thought outloud.

"The enemy falls into two major categories, someone within Hogwarts and someone from the outside."

"So, it could be anyone." He was starting to look peeved.

"Yeah, but then we narrow it down a bit," Mallory tapped the Tower, "it can't have been another first year, because the magic was powerful. The aurors are puzzled, so it must've been been someone older, someone who knew we'd all be out there that night, someone who knew we'd all run like rats from a sinking ship. They used the chaos to take us."

Harper scowled most condescendingly, "someone might've _told_ the murderer we were out there. Just because they knew all that doesn't mean anything. The mind arts or plain bribery could get anyone that information."

"Exactly," Mallory's face split into a grin.

Harper blinked. "I don't follow."

"Anyone in the school," at this, Mallory lowered her voice to a mere whisper, "anyone, even your friends, might be working for the Enemy. They might not even _know_ they're doing it. If this killer meant for all of us to die, it wouldn't take much for them to have someone kidnap us and finish the job."

Harper blanched, eyes flicking over to where his friends were awkwardly milling in the corner. They were frowning curiously at Mallory and Harper.

"The betrayal," he whispered.

"Maybe," Mallory thought of Kit and Felix, who currently knew Mallory's plan and were wandering the halls of Hogwarts. Risk. Someone could torture them for information and then memory charm them. There was no way to _know._

"The aurors are looking for the Carver," said Harper, "but they're also going through Slytherin House, questioning anyone who might be connected with it. They might catch whoever is working for the—"

"If I were secretly the agent of an Evil Killer, who was bribing or blackmailing me into torturing and memory charming kids, do you think I'd leave any trace in anyone's mind that I was connected to it?"

She'd _pay_ someone to make her forget, and have them pay someone to erase _their_ mind. It'd create a daisy-chain of memory erasing. With some finagling, it'd be impossible to tell who was an agent of the killer, after the fact.

"Only if they're very good at memory charms."

Mallory nodded, "so we can't catch them ourselves, and the aurors likely won't, either. And if it really _is_ the Carver, well, the aurors haven't had any luck there at all."

The Carver operated for over twenty years without getting caught. She didn't expect them to catch the Carver this time.

"Yeah, but why still come after us?"

"Uhh..." Mallory blinked, "if it's the Carver, then he killed three kids every time, I think. We'd be the only ones who got away. Maybe it'd rankle him. Serial killers are bent in the head, you know. It's why they go killing. And if it was someone who meant to kill one of us on purpose and make it _look_ like a Carver attack, then they'd kill all three of us to hide the real target."

Harper shook his head, "that can't—"

"I know what to do, though." Mallory looked him straight in the eye, "and it's why I'm telling you. We both need to run away from Hogwarts."

"What?" Harper drew back, "with you? No way."

"Not _with_ me, no way." Mallory crinkled her nose, "no way, but I'm getting out using a McGonagall's floo. You should, too."

"The professor's floo?" Harper narrowed his eyes in suspicion, "they've shut them all down."

"_Not_ the Deputy Headmistress' floo." Mallory flashed him a grin, flipping another card over. "Tomorrow night I'm leaving, and you should, too."

This was, of course, a lie. The timing of her escape _and_ the method were entirely different. It was the best she could come up with, on the spot. She hadn't expected him to have more friends, more people to _tell_ her plan.

Risk, misdirections, lies.

If Harper told his friends, Mallory had a bit of room through which she could wriggle out of the noose she made for herself, here.

Her Enemy and their pawns might waste resources patrolling outside McGonagall's office.

Hogwarts was a teleportation-free zone. Which meant hiding within Hogwarts until one was ready to escape was a worthy design. Except, of course, that witches and wizards had the most incredibly vexing ability to track a young hero's whereabouts.

Now, she knew they couldn't actually _take_ her from her parents, once she reached them. That would be all kinds of illegal, given how parents have authority over their children, unless they're being terribly abused or somesuch.

Once she reached her parents, said parents could politely tell the wizards to _fuck off,_ and they'd be obliged to do exactly that.

The whole problem lay in the _reaching_ them.

This was complicated by a wizard's general ability to teleport wherever they please, rendering _distance_ a decidedly surmountable challenge, once she left Hogwarts. She had to reach her parents _before_ the aurors realized she was missing. The second they noticed, they'd do a tracking spell and then teleport to her location. If she wasn't at her parents' house by then, she was screwed.

How she accomplished this didn't matter very much to her, except to avoid doing anything that would have her friends forever hating her.

It was _really_ too bad that the floos were locked down. The second she said it outloud to Harper, she started thinking how the floo was a great idea. Floo to Diagon Alley and take a bus home from there.

"Don't tell your friends," said Mallory. "Really, don't."

Harper shifted his gaze to the now-impatient group of first years. "They're set on finding whoever killed Rowle."

Which meant he was going to tell them? Mallory cocked her head, confused. "Yeah, but they're not going to. None of us could. The Carver or whatever, they're older and powerful and even have the aurors confused. We don't know any fancy magic or anything."

He shook his head, "just go away. You've made your point."

Mallory put the cards down and stood up, "_don't tell them,_ like— I—" _I didn't leave you behind in the woods to die,_ "just don't, okay?"

"I get it," he said dully.

Mallory's eyes flicked over to the now-approaching group of ornery first years. "I could've left you to die, you know." she hissed, though it likely would only make him more stubborn, "this is the same sort of thing."

She didn't wait for him to reply, and instead spun on her heel and stomped past the group of first years.

Colin almost tripped over himself, catching up to her as she stormed out the hospital wing in a huff. She _knew_ Harper wouldn't listen to her, but it rankled, regardless.

"What did he _say?_" Colin asked, eyes wide and worried.

Mallory stopped in place, adrenaline and fear coiling in her gut. She shouldn't have told him. It was a risk, a coin flip, but—

If Harper tells those seven first years all about Mallory's plan, even the fake plan, it was putting her and her friends at risk. She'd gone into it thinking Harper might tell _just_ Montague, who was a loyal friend and wouldn't purposefully betray him.

The risk there was in Montague being snatched, tortured for information, and mindwiped. The killer might want to know if Mallory or Harper saw anything of value. But instead of _that_, they'd learn how Mallory deduced that the killer had agents in Hogwarts. If she was _right_ about that, it put her and Harper in more danger.

With only her friends, Harper, and Montague in the know, there wasn't much danger. Harper was in the Hospital Wing, with auror guards right outside. Montague was a risk, but Harper might not tell his loyal friend for fear of endangering him. Mallory and her friends were muggleborns, and everyone thought they were ignorant and stupid. Chances are no one would bother with them.

Now she had to worry about seven people, people she didn't know and didn't trust one whit.

Too much risk, with almost no chance of Harper _actually_ choosing to run away.

"Harper's an idiot." Mallory said. "He and his friends, they think they're going to _solve the mystery_ like they're bloody Sherlock Holmes."

"You don't know," said Colin, who was shifting from foot to foot with discomfort, "they might figure it out."

"They _won't_," Mallory insisted, "and he's going to tell them everything and they'll tell all _their_ friends everything—"

And she hated it when doing the right thing bit her in the arse. She _had_ to tell Harper and she _hated_ that she regretted it on some level.

"They're not his friends at all." said Colin, with some hesitation, "they were talking the whole time, and— almost all of them were there to get information from him, and they were annoyed because he wasn't too keen on them being there."

Mallory blinked, surprised. "Oh."

"Yeah, _oh._"

"Who was there for _him_?" Mallory asked, trying to sort out who'd learn her secret by the end of the evening.

If, say, four of the seven were there for the mystique of solving a murder mystery, and those four kids each told (in total confidence, of course) two of their friends— and then their friends whispered to _their_ friends (in total confidence) how Mallory _suspected spies in the school_—

Well, it'd be all over the school by nightfall.

Her lie wasn't clever enough to act as a proper safety net. It relied on her Enemy and their minions making a mistake _and_ the aurors catching them _and_ that her Enemy didn't know how to cast a tracking charm.

Mallory wasn't fond of any scheme that forced her to rely on multiple things going right.

"The kid from earlier in the hallway, not the one with the tarot cards." Colin shrugged, "and this Ravenclaw kid, I don't know his name, either."

The one in the hallway who wasn't Avery? Then the kids were Montague and some kid she didn't know.

Mallory nodded, "alright then, let's go catch up with Felix and Kit."

Two wasn't as bad as seven, but the _risk_ was still there.

A sinking feeling of despair was welling in her gut. This wouldn't end well. And unlike her previous adventures with Danny, the consequences for failure here were far more severe.

* * *

On the ao3 version of this fic, I've included a post containing all the artwork I've created so far for this fic. FFnet has a restrictive policy regarding links, so google "archiveofourown "For Want of a Mallory"" it should be the second link. You can also try going to archiveofourown dot org /works/8064130/


	14. The Cracklewood Carver Part 5

As a general note to avoid confusion: while Mallory may believe that any and all over her memories are suspect, that's not necessarily true. Assume that if it happens "on-screen," it really happened.

* * *

The hallway leading to the Greenhouses was narrow, with a high vaulted ceiling. Sunlight weakly filtered through paned windows on the right wall, vines and creepers grasping for purchase on the grimy glass. Countless students walked in and out every day, tracking mud onto the stone floor.

But not today, it seemed.

Two aurors were posted at the door, and they weren't letting any students in or out.

At the corner of the hallway leading out the Greenhouses, Mallory and her friends waited. She poked her head around the corner again, quickly, and saw a flash of red robes still lurking by the door. Damn.

"They're not moving," Mallory muttered from her crouched position by the corner. Felix and Kit were lurking behind her, likewise doing their best to be stealthy.

The wall they were pressed against met the greenhouse corridor, forming an L shape. Outside the windows it opened up into a yard, before the grass met the glass of the Greenhouse Two. Overgrown creepers crawled along the glass, wedged into cracks. They spread outward like long, gnarled fingers.

The vines spread from the Greenhouse proper to the corridor leading outside. She could see them from her hiding spot. Fortunate, because the vines blocked the aurors from spying the four students lying in wait.

"Don't you think it's _more_ obvious that we shouldn't be here, if we're crouching by the corner?" asked Felix, whispering from right behind her.

Mallory looked back at him. The afternoon sunlight was glinting off his glasses, which he needed as badly as Velma in _Scooby Doo._ His black wizard school robes were slightly wrinkled, and she could see the bottoms of his trousers and white trainers where the robe rode up.

He'd dropped his bag on the ground next to him. It wasn't a good idea to leave it there. If they needed to move fast, he'd waste precious seconds picking it up. Mallory would've said something about it, but they'd been waiting at that corner for almost ten minutes. Their bags were _heavy._

"No one's around," Mallory whispered with a shrug. _And this is more fun._

At that, Kit abandoned all pretense of sneaking, walking back toward Colin at the other end of the corridor, away from the corner.

Beads of sweat had gathered on Kit's forehead. The girl let out an irritated huff and started fussing with her hair, tying the light brown curls back before shucking off her black witch's robes.

"Woah!" said Colin, from where he was meant to be keeping a lookout.

"Shh!" Mallory and Felix shushed him.

"It's not like there's a bathroom," hissed Kit, "just don't look."

Not that there was anything to look at. Kit, like the other three muggleborn students, wore _real_ clothes under her robes. Her shirt was hidden under an ugly woolen jumper two times too big for her, buttoned all the way to the top. The sleeves were rolled up and the heavy jumper was long enough that it hung over her plaid skirt. Mallory could see skinned knees through her stockings, and Kit had picked bright red wellies to complete her ensemble.

Kit stretched, back cracking in a way that made Felix flinch, and flopped down next to Colin.

One more glance around the corner to be sure the aurors hadn't moved, and Mallory inched away from the greenhouse corridor. She tapped Felix's shoulder and gesturing for him to follow.

Once all four of them were two corridors away from the aurors, Mallory felt safe enough to speak without whispering.

"We need a new plan." she spoke, dropping her bag in the middle of the corridor with a thud.

There were two alcoves in this hallway they could hide in, if someone came by. She'd picked it for this reason. The alcoves were deep, dark, and suits of armor stood sentinal inside them. Two first years could cram behind it in a hurry, and would be almost completely hidden. The lack of windows meant it was cooler, too. A relief after crouching in the sun for a while.

"They _might_ leave soon." said Colin, hope tinging his voice. He shifted the bag on his shoulder in discomfort.

They all had bags. Turns out no upper years were willing to cast a featherlight charm on Mallory's trunk, so she grabbed what she wanted most and shoved it all in her bag. That, her money, a butter knife and two forks, plus a pilfered sandwich made up the contents of her arsenal. The rest had similar scores.

Mallory wasn't feeling too hopeful about that. Two forks and a _butter knife_ were hardly weapons they could use against the bloody Cracklewood Carver or some unnamed killer.

"They're not going to leave," said Felix, "they're wizard policemen. Protecting that door right now is their _job._"

He said the word _job_ as though it was a synonym for _sacred duty._

"It's warm," Kit kicked aimlessly at the air, "I thought they'd get bored or fall asleep."

Mallory took a deep breath. It smelled of the damp, leaving a sharp taste of minerals on the back of her tongue.

"I was thinking about it while we were waiting." Mallory said, starting to pace in the corridor, "the windows are all locked, and the rest of the doors we know of, they're guarded or locked, too. Do you think they missed one?"

It was saying something that she was now relying on people making _mistakes._ So far, their Grand Escape met all dead ends.

Kit shrugged, "I don't know."

"I don't know where all the doors are located, either," said Felix. He spoke like this was a personal failing of his.

Mallory hesitated. She could say something, pry or poke at him to figure out what he was thinking, but there really wasn't the time. The afternoon sun was getting lower in the sky, and it'd be a hike to Dufftown.

"Okay," Mallory nodded. They'd tried smashing a window in, but it hadn't worked. The windows were either made of something other than glass, or were magically reinforced. Whole corridors and floors were off-limits, for no apparent reason at all. Aurors guarded them, just like they guarded the door leading out to the Greenhouses.

Some doors were sealed and _didn't_ have aurors guarding them. At first they thought this was lucky, but neither Mallory's attempt at lockpicking (bent bobbypins melted in her fingers) nor Felix's clever unlocking spell worked. Doors that couldn't be sealed were guarded by aurors instead of sealed. They'd hoped the aurors would get bored and leave, but—

Mallory blinked. Oh.

"If the aurors have to go, d'you think they leave the door unlocked behind them?" she asked, feeling rather foolish.

The four first years looked at one another.

Felix's ears were turning red, Kit looked like she'd been struck in the face, and Colin practically deflated.

"We need another way out." said Colin, glancing around the corridor as though he were looking for inspiration.

Mallory thought, "okay, what about windows on the seventh floor?"

They'd tried the first floor windows, butw would anyone expect someone to try to leave through the seventh?

"The seventh floor?" asked Colin, perking up, "we'd need a way to get down."

"Brooms." nodded Mallory, "we'll grab some brooms, swing to the seventh floor, and _fly_ away from Hogwarts."

Kit looked like Mallory just hung the moon. She wanted _adventure._

"The brooms are stored outside in the broom shed," said Felix.

And they couldn't get outside, because all the doors were locked and guarded. And the windows were locked. They were back at square one. Mallory scowled with irritation.

Kit and Colin looked like someone just killed their puppy.

"But—" Colin perked again, "second years and up keep their brooms in their rooms. Someone will have brooms we can use."

"Right," Mallory picked up her bag, "let's go, then."

The four of them made their way down the corridor, this time heading toward the Grand Staircase.

Felix took the lead.

After an hour of wandering through the castle, Mallory had realized Felix was good at directions. Better than Colin, Kit, and herself, at least. After the third time they got lost and Felix was the one who figured out how to get them back to the Grand Staircase, he was designated the group navigator.

Mallory and Colin took up the middle, walking side by side. Trailing behind, Kit was taking in the portraits and suits of armor that lined the corridors.

"You lied earlier," Colin said, voice low.

"About what?" Mallory asked, largely because she wasn't sure which lie he was referring to— she lied a lot.

"You said you didn't see her body, at first. You said you didn't see her die." Colin glanced at her, face unusally solemn.

Ah, that.

Before, when Mallory was in the Hospital Wing, she'd told him she hadn't seen anything gory. This was before she realized just how alike they were. He wanted to be a hero, too. She'd forgotten the lie between the Potion's Incident and their conversation in Study Hall.

"Oh." Mallory swallowed. It didn't feel good to lie to her friends, or to be caught in a lie. Her stomach felt twisty and her legs leaden.

Colin poked her in the arm. "Do it again." he said, "and I'll drop one of Snape's preserved animals down the back of your shirt."

"What?" she blinked, "no." The switch from grim disapproval to teasing caught her off guard. Her brain struggled to switch gears.

He poked her in the arm, again. It wasn't the injured one, which was crusty with dried blood under her robes. She'd forgotten to get it fixed in the Hospital Wing. Too distracted, preoccupied with schemes.

"Yes," he said, "friends don't lie about stuff like that."

Mallory crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes. "You wouldn't."

She could feel the scab on the back of her arm crack and re-open. It was a fight to keep the wince off her face. Colin might interpret it to mean she was actually upset, just when they were healing the rift in their friendship.

Worse, he might tell her to go to the Hospital Wing, again.

Time was of the essence, and Madame Pomfrey might decide Mallory ought to spend the night in the Hospital Wing. _That_ could be fatal.

"Oh, I sure would!" Colin said, a smile bursting across his face, "how about it? An eyeball in your soup, flobberworms diced and grinded into your pumpkin juice..."

"No. If you do that I'll—" she was cut off.

"I thought you said you'd do _anything._" Colin's face was twisted in an expression of mock woe. "_Anything_ to earn my forgiveness. Were you _lying?_"

"Colin Creevey, that's evil!"

He started giggling, so she punched him, hard, in the arm.

"Ow!" he clutched his shoulder, "that hurt!"

"I want to see Mallory drinking ground flobberworms," said Kit, from behind them.

"I'll pass, thanks." quipped Mallory.

Kit slung her arms around Mallory's shoulders from behind. It was awkward and uncomfortable, not only because Mallory was taller than Kit so she had to reach up, but because of Mallory's backpack wedged between them.

"Get the flobberworms while I have her trapped," said Kit, "she can't escape." Her tone was placid, calm, which didn't match her actions or words. An affected calm.

Kit's hands bumped Mallory's chin were they were clasped. She definitely could escape, but the backpack was a buffer between Mallory's injured arm and Kit's exuberance. She was fine like this.

It was nice. The rifts she'd created with her stunt during the Potion's Incident were healing.

Felix stopped walking and turned to stare at them. He shook his head, but was smiling.

"I don't have any _on_ me." Colin's brow furrowed with confusion, "we can't—"

"Wait!" Felix turned to look down the corridor. He was standing a few paces ahead, at the four-way junction.

It took her not even a second to realize that he was seeing something that they weren't, and the joke was over.

The temperature in the corridor dropped by a dozen degrees in an instant, and their breaths were fogging out in little puffs in front of their mouths.

Something was wrong.

Mallory's heart thudded double-time in her chest, palms cold and sweaty.

"Don't ruin my—" Kit started, but Mallory reached back with her good arm in a flash, shoving her hand where she guessed Kit's mouth was still talking, oblivious to the danger.

One finger ended up a nostril, two between some _sharp_ teeth, and the rest were slimed by Kit's still-moving tongue. Mallory wrinkled her nose.

A voice from the next corridor over spoke, "—him something like this could happen."

Colin jumped, and Felix froze where he stood.

"He no longer heeds our advice." spoke a different voice. Both voices carried with a strange quality, like they were speaking from a great distance. Quiet, like echoes.

Mallory rolled her shoulders until Kit released her with a huff. Still-slimed fingers snatched Felix by the collar of his robe and dragged him backwards toward an alcove. Colin and Kit followed, the latter wiping her mouth with a grimace.

Two ghosts glided into sight. One was covered in silvery blood, and the other's head was hanging by a thin flap of skin.

Well, that explained it.

"If the protections keep rotting—"

"He belives it's dark magic, that the sacrifice is no longer necessary."

"Preposterous!"

Mallory and her friends stood frozen behind an ugly statue of a gargoyle, a statue which decided to _move_ with a cringe-inducing grinding noise.

Fuck.

"Indeed, yet it is what Albus believes."

Except neither ghost looked over. The stone gargoyle finished scratching its arse, and went still.

"Foolish. Darker things, beasts from—"

The two ghosts stepped straight through a wall and out of sight. Almost immediately, the temperature rose from _freezing_ to normal-Hogwarts-chilly.

"Darker things," Colin spoke, eyes on the wall where the ghosts disappeared through. "What darker things?"

The four stepped out from the alcove. Felix brushed himself off and straightened his rumpled clothes.

"I don't know, but—" Mallory half-turned so she could see her friends' faces. "Did that seem really weird to you?"

"No?" Colin asked, "the stone gargoyle scratched its butt, which was odd, but—"

"No," she shook her head. "That's not what I meant. Uh— the whole thing. Who has a talk like that in public where anyone can overhear?"

"Albus refers to Dumbledore, the Headmaster." Felix said, "the protections on something are _rotting_ but the Headmaster thinks the— the protections, I guess— are bad."

He was thinking out loud.

"That's what would make sense," Mallory agreed.

"Protections for _something_ are rotting, which means they aren't working anymore, or are working poorly," Felix was frowning.

"Dark things can get in." Colin cocked his head, considering, "do you want to bet they're talking about what happened to Rowle?"

If it wasn't, Mallory would cheerfully drink her flobberworm juice.

"That's what I meant, though." Mallory said, eyes still on the wall the ghosts vanished into, "it's _mighty_ convenient, them appearing in front of us and having _that_ talk."

"Maybe we got lucky." said Colin.

Mallory gave him a withering look, "I don't think so."

Felix's fingers were fiddling with the straps of his bag. "They warned the Headmaster about beasts from the Forbidden Forest. The beast attacked you, Rowle, and Harper because some sort of protections failed. A sacrifice— I'd guess and animal, or, I can't imagine a Headmaster ever sacrificing _people._"

"_Felix._" Mallory spoke sharply, before modifying her tone to something more gentle. "Thanks, you're right, I think. But… didn't— didn't that talk seem staged to you?"

"The ghosts don't want to secretly kill you, Mal." Colin rolled his eyes.

She shook her head, "no, I don't think they do. But it's just— it's _off._"

Felix raised a brow, "why?"

"I—" Mallory blinked the cobwebs from her brain, "People don't talk like that. The one ghost repeated conversations they _both_ had with the Headmaster. They both know _why_ the Headmaster thinks it's bad. _We're the audience_ and he was answering _our_ unasked question why the Headmaster wouldn't update the protections."

The ghosts knew what would happen if the protections failed. If they were warning the Headmaster, by that logic they already knew what would happen if the protections failed. There was no need to mention it _again._

"If they wanted to warn us, why not just walk up to us and _say_ they're warning us?" asked Felix.

"Maybe they're not allowed?" asked Colin, shrugging. "I don't know."

Kit bounced on her heels, "everyone, don't you know what this means?"

Mallory gave Kit an annoyed look. "What?"

"It means we're _supposed_ to solve this mystery! It's a _sign!_"

* * *

An hour and fifteen minutes had them no closer to escaping Hogwarts than before. It seems the aurors _thought of everything_ and had confiscated everyone's broomsticks, in advance. Worse, the bloody windows on the seventh floor were sealed.

"If it's all sealed up," said Colin, sitting cross-legged on the teacher's desk, "then do you have to leave at all?"

They'd comandeered an empty classroom on the seventh floor. Mallory suspected it'd been abandoned for a while, given the amount of dust and cobwebs covering the desks. The windows were deep set into the stone, providing enough room for Kit to lounge there. She was looking out the window, overlooking a courtyard.

The musty smell of old smoke and resin tickled her nose.

Felix planted himself in one of the desks, and Mallory took to pacing back and forth in the aisle.

"If no one can leave, then you're not in any danger of being kidnapped," continued Colin.

"That won't stop them," Mallory shook her head, "_we_ don't know all the ways out, sure. But there are secret passageways everywhere. The aurors 'nd professors don't know all of 'em. And— and a professor could be behind this, or blackmailed into helping the Enemy."

"The _Enemy?_" asked Felix, with a raised brow. His fingers were tracing lines in the desk where previous students scarred their initials.

"Rowle's killer," Mallory rolled her eyes in response, "the mastermind behind this."

Felix sat up straight, "you don't know that. You're not sure what happened. Earlier, you noted that your memories of Rowle's death are possibly fake, that memory charms were involved. I'd suppose your memories of the attack itself are also fake, a red herring for the investigators."

Kit hopped down from her perch on the windowsill, "we were talking at lunch. It makes sense. It's one of those— whatsit. Er—"

"Think it through," said Felix, "Rowle's the only one dead. You said it yourself that her parents are criminals of some sort."

"Revenge!" Kit hopped up onto the teacher's desk, next to Colin. "They were doing revenge!"

Mallory stopped mid-step, contemplative. "They had me 'nd Harper think I went first so I'd think— so the aurors would think—" She was missing something. It didn't fit.

"Right!" said Colin, scooting forward, "so they need you alive so you can tell everyone that Rowle followed _you,_ so they all _think_ it was _you_ who was the..."

Colin kept talking, but Mallory tuned him out. She was missing something. Why bother to alter her memories if they were about to kill her? It didn't make sense. She couldn't think with all the noise.

"Colin?" Mallory asked, "Can you stop talking? I need to think."

"You should ask the nurse for more calming potion," said Kit. "You're getting _grumpy._"

Mallory shook her head, "I'm fine, just—" _give me a moment to think._

"You're _overthinking_ it," said Colin, giving Kit a warning look. "Rowle was the target, not you. The doors are all locked and so are the windows. The aurors are here. I'll help— I said I would and I meant it— but—"

"—that's not—"

"I _really_ don't want you to leave." said Colin.

There was a beat of silence. The surprise got her off-track, distracted her. Colin's legs were dangling lazily off the teacher's desk, and one of his shoelaces had come untied. Kit stood behind him, head cocked in curiosity.

Mallory's throat ached, in a distinct way that had nothing to do with the scent of old tobacco or dust.

"You're fun," said Kit, into the silence. "I vote you stay."

"We're not voting," Mallory muttered, blinking rapidly, "but thanks."

Felix said nothing at all.

She thought about South Brent, about eleven years where she'd only ever made one friend. It wasn't fair that she had to leave them behind. She didn't want to— it wasn't fair.

Mallory's eyes shut, chest tight and fists clenched. She needed to put this aside right now, she needed to solve the problem. After, then she could _feel_ things.

The only memories Mallory felt certain of were that Rowle was dead, and that she and Harper were involved somehow. The three of them went missing sometime during that night, with a bunch of people to verify it.

"I've figured it out," Mallory said, snapping her head up, "if my memories are false, then Harper and I were meant to live. The Carver didn't do it, and it wasn't blood-motivated. Someone wanted Rowle dead, but wanted the aurors and everyone else to think I was the target." she nodded towards Colin, acknowledging his point.

"Okay," said Colin.

"But what if my memories aren't fake?" Mallory asked, "Because if they aren't, then all three of us were taken there to die. Harper and Rowle followed _me_, and all three of us were targetted by the Carver or someone else. Everything happened like I think it did, and the killer never expected me or Harper to get away."

"That's..." Kit trailed off, "that's not a good thing."

"No," Mallory confirmed, "no, it's not."

"We could sneak around the Castle." offered Colin, "if the ...Enemy has people in the school looking for you, it'd be hard track you if we kept moving around. Hogwarts is odd, so it'd be difficult to find you, what with secret passageways and hallways that mysteriously move between floors."

The tracking charm was called _point me_. Felix read about it, and explained to them what he knew about the spell, earlier. It acted like a magic compass, pointing the caster to the person or thing they wished to find.

Colin's plan wasn't terrible, except for all the holes in it.

"We don't know the castle well, and our Enemy or their minions do." Mallory said, "plus we don't have enough food for that. All they have to do is wait for us at the entrance to the Great Hall. Once we get hungry enough, they'll catch us."

They couldn't stay moving all day and night. And the aurors wouldn't be here forever. The castle was on lockdown now, but it wouldn't always be— if the killer couldn't get to her now, he would once the castle lowered its defenses.

"What about the secret passageways the murderer might use?" asked Felix.

"What about them?" Mallory asked.

"You think the murderer's using secret passageways the professors or aurors don't know about." said Felix, "I could try to find them."

"The castle's got _a lot_ of rooms," said Kit, cocking her head to the side, "more than 100, at least. Searching through all the rooms would take a long time. Passageways the aurors haven't found would be _extra_ hidden, too. We might not find them at all, if the aurors and professors can't, and only a few students _ever_ managed to discover them."

"The professors may have a master list. They'd know their own school." Felix protested.

"The castle's a _thousand years old._" said Kit, crossing her arms condescendingly, "there must be _some_ secrets." She looked positively delighted at the thought.

Fred and George might know. Granted, they were working with Farley and therefore a terrible choice. Asking them would be like asking the Enemy. Questioning older students could work, but if they had a secret passageway leading out of the castle all to themselves, they wouldn't tell any firsties.

The older years wouldn't help Mallory cast a featherlight charm on her trunk. Fat chance they'd tell her where the secret passageways were located.

It was really a shame the floos were locked down, because flooing to Diagon Alley and then asking the nearest adult for the next floo closest to Dartmoor was an excellent solution to her problem.

Mallory slumped onto the floor beside a desk, dropping the back of her head into one of the wooden seats.

"We're not giving up." said Colin.

"I'm not," Mallory stared at the ceiling. It was arched, with thick wooden rafters suspended across the room. Cobwebs connected them, and she could see dust motes floating down hazily when they passed through the light from the windows.

In the forest, she asked herself what Danny would do. But thinking around obstacles was usually Mallory's job. He'd define the problem, the variables, what the people were thinking and what they'd do. _She_ was the one who made the plan.

This was her domain, but she was out of her depth. Mallory wasn't sure if this was because she was putting so much effort towards keeping her mind away from— she swallowed— or if it was because the aurors thought of everything _and she was only eleven, why did she have to deal with—_

"The rules aren't set in stone," spoke Kit.

"I'm not following," the words felt funny in Mallory's throat, with her neck stretched back like it was, to reach the chair. She blinked to get rid of the tears that had gathered in the corners of her eyes.

Grit and flecks of paper stuck to the tips of her fingers, as she shifted her hand along the cool stone underneath her. The rough surface and sensory input acted as a distraction from the growing pit of despair clawing at her stomach.

"The aurors or the prossors control the gates, who gets in and who doesn't." said Kit, "Maybe we can try going through them, instead of around them."

They'd seen someone else try that, earlier. An older fifth year girl pulled an auror away from a door, with bloody knees and mussed hair, crying that she'd been attacked.

The aurors didn't leave their post, even when she said her friends were lying in a corridor bleeding and neeeded help.

Instead, the two aurors called for backup over some sort of hand-held magic mirror, and cast a spell that shot _ropes_ to bind the girl. The replacement auror arrived in a few minutes. And the girl was assigned detentions, once the aurors finished questioning her under veritaserum.

"They clearly anticipated that." sniffed Felix, a bit vexed.

"The extra aurors came from _somewhere_," said Kit, "maybe the ones that came left their _own_ door unguarded."

"And unlocked?" asked Colin, "we did this. We're going in circles."

"What if we flooded a few bathrooms, or Mallory lit some tapestries on fire. She's said more than once she wants to, and I'll _bet_ the aurors would investigate that!" offered Kit.

Mallory tuned them out a moment, thinking. How did she usually solve problems? Aggression meant attacking the aurors, which was likely to fail. Truth serum meant they'd know what she was planning in minutes and would fail to improve the situation in any measurable way. Running away? Didn't apply.

Intimidating an adult was _really_ hard. She was eleven. Other kids could be intimidated, but not adults, they held all the power.

Mallory blinked.

They held all the power. They made the decisions.

"What?" asked Colin, "you're making that face, again."

"What face?" asked Kit.

"The face where she does something really stupid and starts a fight in potion's class by accusing Selwyn of Rowle's murder."

A grin worked its way across Mallory's face, and she sat up with a start. "We can't get out."

"Right," Colin echoed her, "we can't." He was looking at her like she might turn into a crocodile and eat him.

She stood up, stretched, and dusted off her robes, enjoying the anticipation.

"If we can't get out..." Mallory said, pausing to look each of them in the eye, "it's because the aurors are deciding the safest place for all of us to be is _inside_ the castle."

"Oh, Lord." said Colin.

"If we can't get out, then let's make it so they believe the safest place to be is _outside._"

There was silence, for a moment, as her friends absorbed what she said.

"That's mad," said Felix, "we'll be breaking all kinds of rules."

"I love it," said Kit, grinning in a way that Mallory immediately categorized as _manic_, "but how are we gonna do it?"

"We're going to be in detention for the next two years." Colin said, resigned.

"First, we're already breaking rules. Second, some ketchup and a bit of dirt with panicked screaming should do the trick, and _third_, helping me escape in the first place would already get us in all kinds of trouble."

"I saw that fifth year—" Felix was fidgiting, anxious, "it's not— and what if the _real_ Cracklewood Carver is out there and then all the students are out there and—"

"No, no—" Mallory waved her hands, "it's not like _that,_ we're going to start— uh, are lots of people gathered anywhere?"

"I dunno," Kit shrugged.

"I'm not participating in this." Felix said, getting up. "You might actually _get someone killed._"

"You don't understand what I'm trying—"

"I think I do." Felix spun around, firsts clenched. "You'll start a ruckus, have a lot of students believe the Cracklewood Carver is inside Hogwarts. In the chaos, you'll escape. Except that same ruckus can be used by _Rowle's murderer_ as well. This is beyond reckless and shifts straight into _deranged._"

Mallory shifted her stance, eyeing Felix speculatively. His wand wasn't in his hand, and he was shorter than her, a twig like Danny. Danny, who she could get in a headlock in half a second.

Without magic to serve as an equalizer, Mallory was tall and rather strong for an eleven year old. Not freakishly so, not in a way that was _magic_, but she could definitely overpower Felix, if it came down to it.

"Are you going to tell a professor?" Mallory asked the only question that really mattered.

Felix froze, mid-motion about to pick up his bag. His eyes flicked between Mallory and the rest of them.

"Of course he won't." said Kit, "he'd never nark on us."

"You're going to beat me up." said Felix, tone flat.

"No," said Mallory, tone level, "but I'm going to tie you up."

She took one step forward and Felix bolted for the door, Mallory hot in persuit.

What's worse was he made it.

Felix was fast for a bespectacled nerd-boy. He sped down the corridor, and Mallory wasn't catching up. It was all she could do to keep him in sight.

"Hey, stop that!" shouted a portrait.

"No running in the halls!" screeched another.

Neither Mallory nor Felix paid them any mind.

Her trainers thudded against stone with every step, robes billowing out behind her. Down a corridor and she recognized where they were, at the top of the Grand Staircase.

The Grand Staircase, which was a moving death trap straight out of _Indiana Jones._ He wasn't stopping. He actually intended to _run down those stairs._

Fuck.

Mallory was already panting. A small part of her mind considered that maybe the events of the last couple days were taking their toll on her, and that was influencing her stamina.

He glanced back over his shoulder a split second before racing down the steps at break-neck speed, _jumping_ over some steps to avoid them entirely.

Mallory followed his pattern of jumping, using the railing to avoid tripping on her way down.

"Slow down! No running on the staircases!" hollered a portrait.

Felix would remember where the trick stairs were, and she wasn't about to get stuck.

Then the staircase jolted, almost sending Mallory tumbling to her death. She grabbed the banister, steadying herself, as she realized what had happened.

She could've crowed with glee. The staircase they were both on detached from its landings and was moving up, twisting in midair, leaving Felix no where to run.

Mallory was at the top of the staircase, and Felix was at the bottom. Her heart pounding, she let out a breath of relief.

"Felix, I'll come up with another plan." Mallory lied, as she advanced down the staircase toward her target.

Felix ignored her.

Instead, he pulled out his wand, tossed his book-bag off his shoulders and into the air.

"_Wingardium leviosa!_"

The book-bag stopped its downward descend and floated up and out over the gap.

It took her barely a second to realize he was going to use it to bludgeon her, but there wouldn't be enough time because she could—

And Felix hopped up onto the banister. Mallory's brain went blank with confusion because _what the fuck, "don't—!_"

Felix Underwood _jumped_ off the banister into thin air, hand stretched out to catch the strap of his levitating backpack.

He caught it, swinging wildly back and forth. The momentum carried him and the bag forward across the gap, out of her reach.

"Are you _fucking kidding me?_" she shrieked, slamming her fist down on the banister. Her hands and legs were shaking from adrenaline and she thought her heart might leap it's way out her throat. It was a fucking six story drop holy _fuck_ he could've _died._

Worse, she couldn't do anything.

And what the _fuck_ was that? She watched him float down to the fourth floor landing. Various portraits on the walls whooped and cheered, tossing hats and painted bouquets of flowers in their paintings.

Did he spend all his time thinking of clever, unusual ways to use spells? If she weren't so annoyed at him and _desperate_ for her plan to work, she'd be impressed.

"Fuck," she swore again, as he vanished out of sight.

* * *

Professor Pomona Sprout's office was a reflection of her greenhouse. Every available surface of the round room was covered in plants. With the late-afternoon sunlight filtering through the windows, it gave an overall impression of _green_.

Vines crawled their way up shelves and stones, while other plants actively _moved._ One had a sack-like protrusion that breathed, expanding and contracting like a lung. Another by the window was swaying back and forth, like one of those snakes hypnotized by a snake-charmer.

The professor sat behind her desk, wearing a concerned frown on her face. There was a smudge of dirt on her nose, and her curly hair was speckled with grey. Her professor's robes were covered by a muddy smock, which she forgot to take off before she sat down. As a consequence, the dried mud was cracking off and falling on the stone floor.

By the state of the floor, Mallory concluded this was a frequent occurance.

Felix, the _deranged rat_, sat in the chair beside her, looking uncomfortable, but that was a poor consolation prize given that he actually had the gall to _tell a professor what she was planning._

"Miss Hopkins," spoke Professor Sprout, "I'm very concerned about what I've been hearing."

She leaned across the desk, resting her chin on her chubby hands. The nails were caked in dirt.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mallory saw Felix fidgeting in his seat.

"Mr. Underwood told me what you were planning to do."

Mallory said nothing, sinking down further in her seat. She'd just about _had it_ with adults.

"Can you please tell me why you were planning on starting a panic, dear?"

"He didn't tell you that, too?" she forced the words out, past the _frustration_ she felt. At this point, the frustration felt like a solid wall in her head, drowning out everything besides the fear.

"Mr. Underwood told me you fear for you life, and that you're determined to leave Hogwarts at any cost." She tilted her head a little, trying to make eye contact with Mallory, "I want to understand."

"I won't talk to you."

"Then others are going to speak for you, and you might not be represented accurately. I want to hear what you're thinking, Miss Hopkins."

Generally, adults didn't. Children's problems were petty interruptions in their busy lives. A child bullying another child was _bothersome_, and they didn't care how it was solved so long as the children were _quiet_ and did as they were told. Granted, most weren't as bad as Snape, who took active pleasure in making their lives miserable.

"Miss Hopkins, Mallory, I need your help to understand what's happening, here." spoke Sprout.

There was the possibility, though, that Sprout was like her parents. Mallory's parents were the sort willing to go above and beyond what needed to be done. They _cared_. When they found out Mallory was a witch, they threw themselves into learning everything they could about the magical world. Before, when they learned Mallory was _special_ and had _powers_, they guided her in keeping them a secret.

A kernel of hope grew in her, as she curled her fingers along the wood of the chair. This adult might want to help her.

"Professor Sprout," said Felix, "I can explain."

Mallory sat up, "I'll do it."

"Alright, Miss Hopkins, why do you think you're the target of this murderer?"

"I'm muggleborn," said Mallory, "possibly the first muggleborn in Slytherin. I don't know, but they all seem to think so. The seventh years, a bunch of others, they told me that if I didn't leave, they'd get me expelled or _worse._ Then, _the very next day,_ I'm kidnapped along with two other students, and one of them dies."

Sprout frowned, "you're being bullied? By _seventh years?_" Instead of being incredulous, her tone and face read horror.

"I can list it out, if you like." Mallory fought hard to make her tone less combative, but she didn't think it worked.

"Yes," Sprout nodded, "please do. Though, if you'd like Mr. Underwood to leave, I'd under—"

"It's fine." Mallory shrugged.

"Alright, then. Go on."

"Er— night one, Harper and his friends dangled me upside down in the common room, and they all took turns hitting me with spells," Mallory counted it out on her fingers, "stinging spells, one that made me paralyzed, another that blinded me, made boils break out on my skin, that sort of thing. Then they dropped me on my head— er, they only stopped when they thought Snape was coming."

Mallory glanced up to meet Sprout's eyes. The woman's mouth was open.

"They did all this while saying it was because I'm a mudblood, and don't deserve to be in their house. That I'm lowering the standards of the house, and have dirty blood."

"The other boy— that's Harper, the one who was also kidnapped?" asked Sprout, voice soft.

"Yeah, and the next day Rowle, Harper, and Montague cornered me in a hallway. They'd burnt my trunk, and smacked me into a wall really hard. The nurse said I had a fractured skull— er, and other stuff. Burns. The bullies went to Snape and said _I_ started a fight, said I burnt my own trunk for attention. Snape bought it, and gave me detention."

"On top of that, Felix flew into a group of Slytherins playing quidditch during flying practice, and they all started firing on him. My friend and I, we went to help, and they knocked us all off our brooms. Everyone believes _we_ attacked _them_, but that's not what happened."

"That night, we're all taken out into the woods, all the first year Slytherins, second years, and seventh years. Farley— she's a Slytherin prefect— she has us all cast spells on each other, right? Harper had to stand there and let us all hit him with jinxes, else something _worse_ would happen to us. And you know, when I stood up to her, she cast a— a supersense spell, and it made everything feel way worse, and then she had everyone line up and—"

"They jinxed you." Sprout spoke, more of a whisper or like she'd said it without meaning to— her face was white as chalk.

"Yeah, until I passed out. They were going to do the same thing to Rowle when someone said a professor was coming, and everyone bolted. Then—" Mallory swallowed, "Rowle was killed."

"I told the aurors about the mudblood thing, that they wanted to kill me, but they all think Rowle was the target because her parents were Death Eaters. And maybe that's true. Someone might've put false memories in my head to make the aurors think I was the target. But if my memories are real, then I'm in danger. It wouldn't take much to blackmail someone into kidnapping me or Harper."

Eyes on Sprout, Mallory was struck with a burst of inspiration, "and today, I overheard some ghosts talking. One had blood all over him and the other's head was nearly chopped off. They said Dumbledore wasn't renewing some protections on the school, and that dark things were getting into Hogwarts. I don't think the school is safe."

Sprout was looking down at her desk, lips pursed.

"Right," Sprout said, standing up. "We're going to see the aurors."

Sprout glanced over at Felix, "Mr. Underwood, thank you for bringing this to my attention, and for trying to help your friend. Ten points to Hufflepuff!"

Felix's eyes grew round behind his glasses.

"We're going to get this handled, so don't you worry. Run along to your common room, now."

Felix looked between them, and Mallory was getting that tickling in her brain when something was too good to be true.

This was too good to be true.

So far no professor at Hogwarts acted kindly towards Mallory. She didn't know if this was normal for wizards, but a professor acting this helpful? It was weird. And with thoughts of minions and speculation that the Enemy might be a professor swirling around in the back of her mind, it wasn't hard to come to the obvious conclusion.

She mouthed to Felix, hoping against hope that he'd follow through.

_Minion_ she mouthed, using her eyes to point to Sprout, who was standing next to her, now.

Felix, who so far looked uncomfortable and guilty, froze.

Right, she wasn't dealing with Danny or Kit, people who could act on command. Felix was painfully sincere, hated lying, hated breaking the rules.

She switched gears, pulling her memories on faces and body language to the forefront. She relaxed her shoulders, unclenched her fists, and loosened up her posture.

_I don't know Sprout is secretly a minion of the Enemy. I believe I'm going to talk to the aurors with adult back-up. I believe I'm finally saved._

"That was wicked," Mallory said, a half-grin on her face. "The backpack, floating away like you did."

Felix blinked, confused. "Thanks?"

Sprout walked past Mallory, and Mallory mouthed _minion_ and pointed to Sprout. _Send help!_

"It was cool. You'll have to teach me that spell." Mallory said, then mouthed, _go now!_ and pointed at the door.

Sprout slowly turned around, and Mallory shifted her posture to appear sullen-but-relieved.

"Alright, young man." said Sprout, "off you go!"

At that, Felix turned left the room.

Leaving Mallory alone with her enemy's minion. After all, who would suspect the Herbology professor? It was a perfect ruse.

Sprout pulled something out of her pocket, and Mallory flinched. The woman looked up, confused.

It was a magic mirror, the sort the aurors used.

"What's that?" Mallory asked. She knew it was, but keeping her talking meant stalling her.

"The aurors gave them out for us to use, in case of emergency. I daresay this warrants use."

Mallory widened her eyes, "really? How do they work?"

She was looking around the room, keeping Sprout in her peripheral vision. There was a metal watering can on the desk that could, in emergency, be used as a weapon. It was a poor one, but better than nothing.

The plants were useless, since Mallory knew nothing about magic plants. Worse, Sprout knew a lot about them. It wasn't like Mallory could trick her into walking into a poisonous plant monster.

"You know, I've no idea. I think it's a sort of charm." She tapped the mirror with her wand, and spoke into it. "Yes, this is Pomona Sprout, I've with me a student who's raised some serious concerns, and I was wondering if you could set some time aside today to talk to her."

"This isn't protocol," said a tinny voice from inside the mirror, "these are only supposed to be used if there's an emergency."

"This _is_ an emergency," said Sprout, brows furrowed and lips twisted downwards in irritation, "I'm going to need a meeting with Auror Moody and Auror Kingsley, and I'd like you to collect Professor Snape as well as Madame Hooch _and_ Nurse Pomfrey."

Mallory blinked. Was this woman fucking with her? Either that or—

She hadn't been paying attention to faces, not while Sprout was talking earlier, too wrapped up in her own head.

Sprout didn't look like she was lying.

Mallory knew from experience that it was _really_ hard if not impossible to make her face go bloodless on command. It could be shock that Mallory figured out as much as she did, but all Sprout-the-minion had to do was wipe her mind and Felix's.

Unless she needed to erase Madame Hooch's memory, as well as the nurse's?

But no, the Enemy would _already know about them_ if the plot was to rid the school of Mallory without anyone realizing Mallory was the target because she was muggleborn.

_This_ wouldn't be the prompt that put them in the line of fire.

Mallory blinked again. Huh.

Was this an actual real-life adult in this school, that didn't immediately assume Mallory was at fault or lying? Granted, adults had motives that were beyond Mallory, and it was always harder to tell if an adult was lying.

They had a lot more practice at making their lies believable.

Yet, Sprout wasn't acting like how Mallory imagined a blackmailed professor would act. There'd be nervousness, sweat, twitching, anxiety. Perhaps a stony face as she tried to square herself with what she was about to do.

Sprout wasn't displaying any marks of stress, beyond appearing upset when Mallory told her about what happened.

It shouldn't be a shock, or weird, but it was— she was left waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Yes, _all of them._" snapped Sprout, "I don't care who he's in a meeting with."

"Contact one of the aurors on this investigation through owl or make an appointment at the office. Now, I'm ending this call, in case you're blocking a _real_ emergency." said the auror, before ending the mirror-

Sprout looked like she wished for that little mirror to combust.

"Right," she nodded to herself, "well, come along. We're not giving up now. We'll do exactly as he said to do, and march on down to that office."

With that, Sprout stormed out of the office, and Mallory almost had to run to keep up. As she followed Sprout, Mallory considered she was either the greatest sucker in history, or she'd finally found her champion.


	15. The Cracklewood Carver Part 6

The door to the Temporary Auror Office was wedged between a paneled wood cabinet and a tapestry depicting a weeping mermaid. Light flooded in through the tall paned window at the end of the hall. The heat touched the tips of Mallory's fingers, warming them. Leafy branches and trees from outside in the courtyard cast odd shadows on the stone floor.

Two aurors, who'd been leaning against the cabinet, tensed as Mallory and Sprout approached.

"We need to speak to Kingsley Shacklebolt or Alastor Moody, now. This is an emergency." said Professor Sprout.

It appeared Mallory had a champion, after all.

The entire walk down to the Auror's Office was agony. Mallory spent it silently wrestling with herself. She'd considered making a run for it, of lighting Professor Sprout's robes on fire and screaming bloody murder.

In the end, time ran out before she could make her decision.

Now, as she was being checked over by aurors with whizzing devices and spells, she could admit to herself that she was wrong about Professor Sprout. Worse, she'd told Felix that Professor Sprout was a minion of the Enemy.

It wasn't like there was much he could _do,_ but Mallory didn't want to be the kid who cried wolf. She was in _real_ danger. If she kept pointing fingers and crying _minion!_ at every turn, eventually she'd stumble upon a _real_ minion of the Enemy, and no one would believe her.

This situation, right here, was where she missed Danny most. Sorting out people was _his_ department. He was the one who was good at it, and _he_ wouldn't make this sort of mistake.

"Professor Sprout?" asked the auror to the left.

"Yes?" she said, "please hurry, this is an _emergency._"

"Of course, we're almost through. You'll have to excuse me," he said, taking out what looked like a plain spray bottle, before spritzing both Mallory and Professor Sprout in the face.

"Portable Thief's Downfall. We need to make sure you're not polyjuiced impersonators." The auror cracked a grin, but neither Professor Sprout nor Mallory were smiling.

The auror cleared his throat. "Right." He removed from his robes a pen— an honest to god muggle pen— and clicked it. Then he spoke into his hand-held magic mirror, "passcode is _humdinger._ Do you have a Pomona Sprout and—" he glanced up.

"Mallory Hopkins," Mallory supplied.

"—and Mallory Hopkins on your side?"

* * *

The Auror's Office was packed with people all speaking at once, and it was making her head ache something fierce.

Mallory tucked herself next to Professor Sprout's side, glancing up at her face.

Professor Sprout's face was chalky-white.

Mallory followed Professor Sprout's line of sight, and found herself staring at two people across from Kingsley's desk.

The couple in question could be carbon copies of Draco Malfoy.

It was actually _uncanny_. Normal people didn't look _that much_ like their parents. You'd see traits from each: Mallory had her dad's eyes, and mum's natural hair was dark, like Mallory's.

_Oh,_ she realized, she was being thick. _Obviously_ Malfoy's parents colored their hair. The shocking platinum blonde they _both_ shared with their son was too similar to be anything but a dye job.

"...yet the investigation moves at a crawl," sneered Mr. Malfoy, fondling his silver snake-head cane in a way that made Mallory feel vaguely uncomfortable.

Mr. Malfoy loomed over Kingsley's desk, leering down at the man in a decidedly condescending manner. Mrs. Malfoy placed a hand on her husband's arm. _Restrain yourself_.

"We understand you're quite busy, and we have no intention of tearing you away from this case. However, you must understand why we'd be concerned." Mrs. Malfoy spoke, tone steady and calm.

Mallory looked back up at Professor Sprout, again. The professor was wiping her hands on her robes and fidgeting. Sweaty palms?

Her eyes flicked back to the couple and Kingsley. Kingsley kept swallowing, like he had a dry mouth, and looked about as nervous as he did when Umbridge was threatening his job.

Trainee Tonks, leaning against the wall, didn't look afraid. Then, Tonks hadn't acted afraid when Umbridge threatened her, either. Instead, Tonks' hair was switching between a violent shade of pink to green, cycling through the rainbow.

Dumbledore, a silent presence at Kingsley's shoulder, stood somber and still.

Mallory's head pounded. She didn't understand what was going on.

At her side, Professor Sprout fidgeted, wiping her hands again on her robes.

Mallory reached up and took her hand, squeezing it. The professor squeezed back, and stilled.

Taking Professor Sprout's arm made the fabric of her robe tug against a small shard of glass still wedged in the cut. They'd scabbed over a bit before, gluing the fabric to her skin. Part of it must've ripped away while she was running, agitating the glass.

It wasn't _terrible_, but combined with the foul smell that seeped into her clothing from those potions, it worsened her headache.

She swallowed back bile; the smell made her nauseous.

Professor Sprout gave Mallory a sweet, comforting smile, and Mallory smiled back.

In the Forest, taking care of Harper kept her focused. She'd happily pretend to need comfort if it made Professor Sprout feel more in control. It wouldn't do to have her protector fall apart.

Mallory closed her eyes for a moment, switching her focus to the people in the room.

Mr. Malfoy was interesting. It wasn't the snake cane, which was way cool, or even the way everyone besides Dumbledore sought to pacify him.

No, that wasn't nearly as interesting as his reaction to Tonks.

Whenever the conversation lulled, his eyes would drift over to Tonks, and each time they did his upper lip would curl involuntarily. Disgust.

Tonks changed her nose to that of a pig's, and Mr. Malfoy almost flinched.

"Lord Malfoy, I assure you we're doing everything we can." said Kingsley, shoulders tensed and lips pressed into a thin line.

_Lord?_ Just who _was_ Malfoy, exactly?

"I've been informed by my son that this crime was motivated by young Miss Rowle's blood." spoke Mrs. Malfoy.

"We don't know that yet, Lady Malfoy."

The Lord and Lady both wore robes, like the professors and the aurors, but theirs shimmered in the candlelight and had patterns embroidered into them.

She hadn't noted it as important before, but if people were calling them _Lord and Lady_, then they must be what expensive clothes passed for in the Wizarding world.

Mallory wasn't certain, but people in Britain usually weren't _afraid_ of Lords and Ladies, like Professor Sprout and Kingsley were trembling. She'd never met a Lord or Lady, before, so she couldn't tell if this was normal. Her little village back home didn't get visits from fancy Lords.

Morevoer, she wasn't quite sure what Lords and Ladies _did_, only that a long time ago some of them were incredibly rich and ruled over lands under the King. Now, they sometimes helped write laws, along with a bunch of other politicians.

Mallory _really_ wished her mum was here. Mum spent part of the summer reading up on the structure of wizarding government. Mallory tuned most of it out, since it was adult stuff and boring, but now she wished she'd paid attention.

"We want our son placed under auror protection, or he's coming home with us, today." said Lord Malfoy, slamming his cane against the ground for emphasis.

Professor Sprout, waiting at Mallory's side, must've seen the same opening Mallory did, because she chose _that_ moment to interrupt.

"Lord Malfoy," spoke Professor Sprout, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I have some information on the safety of the school that you may be interested in."

The professor's voice only shook a little, and Mallory squeezed Professor Sprout's hand tightly in response.

"Pomona, this isn't necessary." said Dumbledore, from his position by Kingsley. His tone was admonishing, like Professor Sprout was a child who'd spoken out of turn.

"I think it is!" snapped Professor Sprout.

Context: Mallory was missing it.

Lord Malfoy's eyes narrowed, flicking between Professor Sprout and Dumbledore. "What sort of trickery is this?"

"This child was one of the students attacked. I spoke to her earlier, and some of the things she's mentioned raise serious concerns about the safety of students, here." Professor Sprout's voice gained volume and confidence as she spoke.

"This is… the _muggleborn._" Lord Malfoy looked over Mallory like he was measuring her for her coffin.

"I'm concerned," said Professor Sprout, "that an agent of young Miss Rowle's murderer might wish to kidnap more students from Hogwarts."

"I assure you," said Kingsley, "nothing's getting in or out. All secret passageways are guarded by two aurors at all times. Windows and doors are locked— with _real_ locking spells, not some flimsy _colloportus._ We have everything in hand, as I've told Lady Malfoy."

"And portkeys?" asked Sprout, "not to mention the concern of a student or professor under the imperius curse."

Lord Malfoy fingered his cane, "given the identity of the student murdered, it may be worth shutting down the school until the perpetrator is discovered."

"The students need to learn," spoke Dumbledore, "and I won't have any student denied the chance for further education, no matter their family."

"I've said nothing of the sort," sniffed Lord Malfoy, giving Dumbledore the stink eye.

Mallory tilted her head. Dumbledore believed _Lord_ Malfoy wanted to shut down Hogwarts to deny muggleborns a magical education.

Wait, wasn't Lord Malfoy on the school Board? He wanted Dumbledore fired.

Which meant he was raising up a fuss to make Dumbledore look bad. Maybe _that's_ what the Grand Undertoad meant, when she was screeching about Dumbledore and lies, earlier.

"Yes, Lord Malfoy, you didn't," Kingsley said, "and we have an anti-portkey jinx up. The floo network is locked down, except for one connection between here and the Ministry. A taboo has been set up on the unforgiveables, as well. We'll know if anyone uses them on premises."

Professor Sprout, next to Mallory, twitched like she'd been stung. _What?_ And Tonks, from her position on leaning against the wall, stumbled and almost fell over. Lord Malfoy gave her another one of his disgusted glances.

"Your aurors have been likewise vetted?" asked Lord Malfoy.

"If someone tries to imperiuS them _before_ they get to Hogwarts, there isn't much we can do, as you know, _Lord Malfoy._"

The strange emphasis on that sentence, coupled with how Lord Malfoy's fingers clenched his cane so tight they went bloodless, made Mallory very _very_ curious.

Too many variables. Mallory was losing track of what was happening, trying to remember _what_ exactly Umbridge said before about Dumbledore, while paying attention to the current conversation. And that wasn't even _mentioning_ the part of her mind that was trying to suss out why both Tonks and Professor Sprout just flinched.

"What about owls?" asked Professor Sprout, before Lord Malfoy could explode at Kingsley.

"What about them?" asked Kingsley.

"Someone may send blackmail threats or bribes to students and teachers. They might demand a student or teacher to kidnap students."

Lord Malfoy took that moment to shift from _imminent explosion_ to surprised.

"Yes, we've considered that. This isn't our first time solving a murder case," ground out Kingsley, "all incoming owls are screened."

"And how many secret passageways are being monitored?" asked Professor Sprout.

"Four."

"Four?" Sprout frowned, "I recall— now this is a rumor, and only a rumor, you mind, but I've heard students mention in the past of there being six secret passageways leading out of Hogwarts."

"I must admit," stated Dumbledore, "we've never quite determined the number of secret passageways, here. The castle's mysteries are numerous."

"Which student?" asked Kingsley, ignoring Dumbledore.

"They've long since graduated." Sprout shook her head.

"No, give us their name so we can have someone drop by their house and ask them where the passageways are." Kingsley sounded a tad exasperated.

"Ah, yes." Professor Sprout's cheeks went pink, "Rufus Scrimgeour."

"Thank you. We'll have someone send him an owl."

"Thank you, Pomona," said Dumbldore, "you've been of great help. Now I believe that solves the matter neatly."

"No it doesn't," Mallory spoke up, "what do I do until he owls us back?"

Dumbledore frowned, "Miss Hopkins—"

"I'm not safe here, just like how Malfoy isn't safe. In fact, I'd be a lot safer at home with my family."

"Even the muggleborns don't wish to be here," snarked Lord Malfoy.

And Mallory _knew_ that was supposed to be a jab at Dumbledore, for bigoted shitty reasons, but she nodded anyway.

Lady Malfoy was looking at Mallory, lips pursed. "Perhaps you should speak to Severus and have her sent home."

"Yes, actually," Mallory "that'd be great— er— Lady Malfoy."

She hadn't missed how everyone but Dumbledore used their title everytime they spoke to the Lord and Lady.

"Professor Snape agrees it's in her best interests to stay." said Dumbledore, with finality.

Lord Malfoy glanced away, visually dismissing the issue. "Regardless, I believe it's high time my son came home. I won't have him in this farce of a school one moment longer."

Dumbledore bowed his head, "if you insist."

"I _do_ insist." he spat.

Lady Malfoy, however, was still spying on Mallory. It was a bit weird, because Lady Malfoy wasn't doing it intentionally. Much like how Lord Malfoy's eyes kept travelling over to Tonks, Lady Malfoy's eyes kept wandering over to Mallory.

She'd catch herself looking, and glance away. Mallory asked herself briefly if Lady Malfoy was staring at her because _she_ was staring at Lady Malfoy, but that wasn't it. Lady Malfoy kept staring. She did it even when Mallory looked at the wall for a half a minute while Lord Malfoy and Dumbledore were fussing over paperwork.

Too many things to pay attention to— Mallory had taken her shot, but without understanding what was going on in the room, it was hard to gauge the effect in advance. There was _subtext_, a lot of it.

Lady Malfoy kept staring at Mallory, Lord Malfoy kept staring at Tonks, and _everyone_ besides Dumbledore and Tonks were scared shitless of the Malfoys. There was _something_ going on between Umbridge and Dumbledore, and Malfoy and Dumbledore, but Mallory couldn't work it out while still trying to pay attention to everything going on around her.

And that wasn't even _mentioning_ the bizarre flinch from Tonks and Professor Sprout.

Lord Malfoy took that moment to snipe at Dumbledore, "...clearly not. If I recall, one of your professors _stole_ a priceless magical artifact from you last year, before absconding to places unknown."

"You know very well who's behind that theft." The look Dumbledore gave Lord Malfoy could've melted steel.

"You mean the nonsense you've been feeding Cornelius?" Lord Malfoy scoffed, "I know _exactly_ what you're doing, and no one's fooled, I assure you."

"Lord Voldemort—" at that, everyone in the room besides Mallory flinched, "—is no ally of yours, or your family. He'll use you and _kill_ you."

"I was under the _imperius_," hissed Lord Malfoy, "as you _well know._"

"More Death Eaters died at the hands of Lord Voldemort—" another room-wide flinch, "—than at the hands of the aurors and Order, combined. Investigate it, if not for your sake, then for the sake of your son."

"_Headmaster_ Dumbledore," spoke Lady Malfoy, for the first time in a while, "Lucius, this isn't the time. I'll thank you for your advice, but we have nothing to do with the Dark Lord, _as you well know._"

Dumbledore lightly bowed his head, "of course." He sounded resigned.

Professor Sprout's hand was a block of ice in Mallory's, cold and sweating. She glanced around the room, noting the faces. Kingsley was stiff as a board, grim-faced and staring at the wall without meeting anyone's eyes. Tonks looked between Dumbledore and the Malfoys, anxious.

It was the first time Mallory had seen Tonks look anything but amused or defiant.

Her head spun, trying to fit together all the pieces of the puzzle. Too many people, too much information. She didn't know what to _do_ with it all.

"Albus," spoke Professor Sprout, breaking the awkward silence, "we need to do something to make sure Miss Hopkins and Mr. Harper are safe."

"This is all unecessary." said Dumbledore, who sounded awfully tired, "the children are safe."

"_Albus_," said Professor Sprout, drawing herself up, "after this, I'd like to speak with you in private. I've overheard a _fascinating_ conversation between Nearly Headless Nick and the Baron."

Mallory almost jumped in shock, and Professor Sprout placed a calming hand on her shoulder.

Holy fuck, was _Professor Sprout_ trying to blackmail the _headmaster?_ Because in the rush of information she'd _completely forgotten_ about the weird warning from the ghosts.

Dumbledore looked confused for a moment, but she saw the second he realized exactly what Sprout meant.

If she understood the situation right, here...

Then Lord Malfoy wanted Dumbledore ousted from the school. Lord Malfoy might be some sort of politician, given his title. Whatever the case, he _almost_ had enough clout before to get Dumbledore fired, but not enough. Until now.

The ghosts said that _Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts_ refused to protect the school.

That might be the leverage Lord Malfoy needed to get rid of Dumbledore, and now Professor Sprout was threatening to spill the beans unless Dumbledore agreed with him.

Mallory could've bounced with glee.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts fiddled with his beard, frowning for a moment, "Yes, they're incredibly concerned about the welfare of the students, as am I. It's _unecessary_, but I do believe Kingsley might spare an auror to keep an eye on Miss Hopkins and Mr Harper?"

"We could," said Kingsley, who was looking between Professor Sprout and Dumbledore with suspicion. "But we still don't know if there are more than four passageways."

"I suppose it can't hurt to err on the side of caution, just this once." spoke Dumbledore.

At that, Kingsley shrugged, "sure. Tonks, how about it? Are you up to playing bodyguard?"

Tonks perked up from her spot against the wall. "Sir, yes sir!"

"Alright, bring Mr Harper here and you'll keep an eye on the kids while you read the map. Can you handle both tasks at once?"

"Of course," beamed Tonks. And with that, she practically bounced out the room, hair bubblegum pink with delight.

Lord Malfoy was _still_ eyeing them all with disgust. Lady Malfoy, on the other hand, was looking between Mallory, Professor Sprout, and Dumbledore with a speculative gleam in her eyes.

In that moment, Mallory decided that out of the two of them, Lady Malfoy was scarier. Not just because of her odd interest in Mallory, but because she kept her head cool and _noticed_ things.

When she got back to Sourth Brent, she was _so_ telling Danny. She just witnessed a real live blackmailing event, and she even had a part to play in it!

Granted, it was all incredibly contrived how she knew Dumbledore neglected the protections. But it was the principle of the thing.

This was all working out well.

Protection by an auror _might_ be enough to make her a less tempting target for the Enemy and their minions. If anything, it bought her _time._ So long as she stuck near Tonks and the aurors, Mallory was safe. Once they left the danger was back, though. It was only a short-term solution.

In the meantime, Mallory could send letters to her parents, look for opportunities to get out of Hogwarts. Maybe she could even convince Professor Sprout to use her leverage to send Mallory home.

She had _options_, now.

Mallory could feel the stress sliding off of her as though it were a physical thing. Her chest felt as light as a bird.

And without the stress bogging down her brain, she was free to _think._

Umbridge screamed a bunch of things, earlier. Her memories of the event were scrambled by fear and the shock of Umbridge grabbing her by the arms and shaking her. But Mallory remembered—

The mirror on Kingsley's desk started flashing, and he picked it up.

"Is that Draco Malfoy on your side of the map?" asked the tinny voice of the auror who guarded the door.

Kingsley looked down at the sheets of paper on his desk. "Yes."

"Alright, he's coming in." And with that, ended the connection.

The door opened, and Malfoy the younger walked in, pointy-chinned with his nose stuck in the air.

With them side-by-side, Mallory withdrew her previous assumption that he and his parents were clones. The hair was the same, but Lady Malfoy had dark almost black eyes, where Malfoy's eyes were a light blue. The shapes of their faces weren't copies, either. Lord Malfoy's chin was different that his son's, which was of the extra-pointy variety.

"Come along, Draco." said Lord Malfoy.

Draco looked at the gathered adults, and hesitated. "What's going on?"

"We're leaving. Now, _come along._" hissed the Lord.

"I don't want to." said Malfoy, tone petulant and confused, "all my friends are—"

Malfoy's father grabbed him by the collar of his robe and dragged him to the fireplace, muttering a word before they vanished into the green flames.

Right. The only working floo connection in Hogwarts existed inside this room.

The room Mallory would be spending a _great deal of time in_, thanks to the two meddling ghosts.

Lady Malfoy gave Mallory one last lingering look, before turning to Dumbledore. "Good day. If the murderer is caught, he'll likely return. Otherwise, we'll be finding permanent alternatives for his education."

With that, she vanished into the flames after her husband.

Huh. Interesting.

Baby Malfoy's parents reminded her of Danny's parents. They were the sort who considered their children painful embarrassments.

Lord Malfoy had a temper, and a hard time controlling his temper. Lady Malfoy, however, either didn't get angry easily or was skilled at hiding anger.

The adults went back to talking, and Mallory tuned them out to think.

_Something something Snape knows Lucius Malfoy._ Why was that important?

Right. Umbridge said that Lord Malfoy mentioned knowing Snape, but— and Mallory _barely_ remembered the context— _but_ she'd bet anything that Umbridge had name-dropped the Malfoy's in order to show off her connection to the _Lord_.

And Umbridge _really_ didn't like Dumbledore. She said a lot about Death Eaters, which sort of rang a bell but Mallory couldn't remember where she heard the term, before.

Umbridge made a fuss about not liking Dumbledore, and name-dropped Malfoy. Oh.

The Grand Undertoad was an _ally_ of Lord Malfoy, and of Darla Rowle's family. Dumbledore's enemies were using Rowle's death as a means to weaken his position. Since Dumbledore was a known-supporter of muggleborns, it'd be bad in the long-run for Mallory if he lost too much ground. In the short term, he was standing in her way of getting out of Hogwarts.

And… Umbridge didn't like Tonks because _Lord Malfoy_ didn't like Tonks? Or perhaps it was the other way around. Something to do with her dad being a muggle and her aunt a criminal.

Maybe it was that simple. Umbridge and Lord Malfoy were lawmakers, and disapproved of the niece of a criminal becoming a law-enforcement officer.

Mallory saw Professor Sprout preparing to leave the room with Dumbledore and almost jolted.

"Professor Sprout!" Mallory spoke.

"Yes, dear?"

"I— _thank you._" Mallory said, throwing all her sincerity behind the words, "thank you _so much._"

After several days of _completely insane_ adults, a kind authority figure wasn't to be taken for granted.

Professor Sprout smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling, "you're very welcome. Now, be safe, and don't start any trouble."

"I won't," Mallory cracked a grin.

Dumbledore frowned, "Pomona, we must speak." His tone was grave and disappointed.

Professor Sprout snorted, "oh yes, we're going to have a talk, alright."

Professor Sprout wasn't at _all_ scared of Dumbledore. In fact, Mallory suspected that Dumbledore would be getting the dressing-down, instead of Sprout.

Dumbledore let out a long-suffered sigh of irritation, and turned to leave. Professor Sprout stalked behind him.

It was nice having an adult stick up for her like that, when there were powerful people in the room who could make her life miserable.

Lord Malfoy was on the Board. He _must_ have some sort of authority over professors and the school. He had power enough to take on Dumbledore and _almost_ win.

And if Mallory remembered right, Dumbledore was one of the most powerful wizards _ever,_ even if he was a judgmental prick.

Power.

That's what it was, why everyone was so afraid of the Malfoy's. They were powerful in some way that let them stand up to Dumbledore without fear of rebuke. Worse, they weren't _nice_ about it. Lord Malfoy looked like the sort of person who'd happily curse Mallory within an inch of her life, if given the excuse.

Though, now that Mallory was thinking about it—

Umbridge accused Dumbledore about lying about something to do with Death Eaters— _bla bla the Minister will hear about this!_ Then Lord Malfoy said the same thing, basically.

Lord Voldemort.

That _had_ to be that ridiculous Dark Lord Fred and George mentioned. There was some sort of war. Did her mum mention that one to her?

There was this German guy that Dumbledore defeated, but no, his name began with a G. G for German. _Grundlewick?_

A professor left Hogwarts halfway through the year under mysterious circumstances. Now she was hearing from Lord Malfoy that a professor at Hogwarts stole a Powerful Magical Artifact, and vanished off into the ether with it.

She'd bet every X-men comic she owned that they were talking about the same person.

This Lord Voldemort character ordered a professor at Hogwarts to steal the artifact, and once the professor completed his job, he left.

And Lord Malfoy worked for him, before. But something went bad with it and now they were trying to distance themselves.

Which only left one remaining mystery: why the _fuck_ was Lady Malfoy interested in _Mallory?_

* * *

Kingsley, it seemed, spent very little time in the Temporary Auror's Office. Most of the time he was in his _real_ office, which was through the fireplace and into the Ministry of Magic's Auror Department.

Tonks took over his seat the moment he left, lazily eyeing the papers on the desk. In the corner of the room, Harper sat with his own specially-conjured table and chair. The little prick refused to sit with Mallory or Tonks.

Instead, he was curled in his seat, pretending to read a book. She knew he was pretending, because he hadn't flipped a page in ten minutes. Either he was the slowest reader in the world, or he wasn't really reading.

Mallory tried reading her comic books, but quickly found _Watchmen_ boring while she was waiting for the _opportune moment_ to sneak through the fireplace and into the Auror's Department.

She _knew_ she'd promised Professor Sprout to keep out of trouble, but she wasn't about to miss out on an opportunity to get home.

Tonks confirmed earlier that the floo was a one-to-one connection between the Auror Department and Hogwarts.

Mallory couldn't use it to get to Diagon Alley or anywhere else. And it was fact that _sneaking into the heart of the Ministry of Magic's police department_ was likely a horrible idea.

She needed a valid excuse to be over there. That, or she needed to wait until later in the evening when all the aurors went home for the night.

Regardless, the end result was that Mallory was bored, and itching for something to do.

Her gaze travelled around the room. Harper was boring, and picking a fight with him now would be a bad idea. Tonks was cool, though, and her side of the desk was covered in interesting magical artifacts.

One was a long scroll with an enchanted quill, poised to write over the parchment.

"What's that do?" asked Mallory, pointing at the quill.

Tonks glanced up from her work, "What?" she looked between Mallory and the quill, "Oh, that's a— well, it's a special paper that writes down words you aren't supposed to say."

"_What?_" Mallory frowned, confused.

"There are dangerous curses that might hurt students, and if they're said in Hogwarts, it'll write down here where it was said, and when."

Mallory thought about this for a moment. It was like wizarding forenzics, or cameras on street corners, only with quills, parchment, and magic.

"Why don't they have that all the time, or—"

Tonks beamed, "they do! There's a great— er— there's a great spell over all of Great Britain, and it marks down where and when things are said that witches and wizards aren't allowed to say."

Mallory noted the word choice, there, "not just spells?"

Tonks, who was no master of deception, shifted her gaze, "er— no. Not just spells. Though, it's rather impolite to talk about it, you see?"

"Why?" asked Mallory.

"Because it's—" she looked around the room, as though she were wishing for someone to give her an out. "There are some things you just don't talk about, for special, complicated reasons. And if you bring it up, everyone around you will feel very uncomfortable."

"It's a taboo." said Mallory.

Tonks almost flinched straight out of her seat. "Don't _say_ it!"

A quick glance in Harper's direction told Mallory he'd abandoned his attempt to pretend to read his book, and was now staring at Mallory as if she'd done something terribly forbidden.

The word _taboo_ was a taboo?

Was _that_ why Tonks and Professor Sprout flinched every time Dumbledore said _Lord Voldemort?_

"What?" asked Mallory, fighting off a grin, "taboo?"

"Yes!" Tonks raised her hands, like she was about to clasp them over Mallory's mouth. "It's _really_ not done."

"Why?" asked Mallory, giving Tonks her most innocent smile. _Trust me,_ the smile said, _I'm sweet and innocent._

She was a _little_ high off witnessing Professor Sprout's victory over Dumbledore.

"It's—" Tonks bit her lip, "it's here for all our protection, and the sort of witches and wizards who talk about it are trying to _get around_ it. And if you're trying to get around it, you must have a bad reason, you see?"

"The people monitoring—" Mallory saw Tonks flinch, almost imperceptibly, "—_looking_ at it, they think anyone who doesn't want to be looked at is bad?"

"It's here to protect us," said Tonks, completely serious.

Mallory blinked, feeling uncomfortable. She was _very_ curious, and she knew being curious didn't make her bad. Mum said so, and being curious about the taboo didn't make her a bad person.

"How does it make me bad, if I want to know about it?"

Tonks shifted in her seat again, "it just _does._ It's complicated, okay kid?"

"Er— so," Mallory continued, ignoring Tonks, "there was this newspaper the other day, and it had this article. I don't remember the word. But there was this… _thing_ people were supposed to report, otherwise they'd be sent to someplace that began with an A."

Tonks nodded, "do you know anything about you-know-what? Because if you have, you need to report it to Auror Kingsley right away."

"No," Mallory shook her head. "I was just wondering what the place they send people to is."

"Oh!" Tonks let out a breath of relief, "that's the wizarding prison, Azkaban."

"And they send people there, for knowing about uh, the— the you-know-what?" Mallory asked.

_Occlumency._ She hadn't forgotten the word, but in this case, it was best to pretend to be ignorant. If she ever learned about Occlumency, she'd be sent to wizard prison. _That was a really good thing to know._

And it struck her then, that mum would be upset about _that_, too. Then, if mum thought it was so terrible, she would've told Mallory all about it over the summer. Maybe the topic never came up in her research?

"Not just for knowing the _word_," scoffed Tonks, "don't worry. But if you know what it means and you're not authorized? Oh, yes."

"Does the thing-we-can't-talk-about _look_ for people saying you-know-what?" Mallory was quite proud of herself for that doublespeak. Already she was learning how to get around the taboo.

Tonks shifted in her seat, squirming a bit. "It's _really_ not on to talk about that, okay? I'm not a bad witch, and neither are you. Getting around the _thing we aren't talking about_, that's something _bad witches_ do. Do you want to be a bad witch?"

In other words, yes.

"No," said Mallory, giving the stock answer she was supposed to give. "Did anyone actually report people saying you-know-what?"

Mallory glanced at Harper out of the corner of her eye. He was looking at her as though she just did something incredibly horrible. Harper knew about the taboo, and that meant the taboo was some sort of common knowledge. It was something everyone knew and no one acknowledged?

_Why?_ It seemed so silly.

It also made her wonder what the heck _Occlumency_ was, in the first place. It had to be something extraordinarily evil or powerful, if witches and wizards were going through this much effort to keep people from knowing about it.

Now her curiosity was piqued. She hadn't expected to have _this_ sort of conversation about a bloody parchment and enchanted quill. Her mum would have a field day with this.

Tonks rolled her eyes, "Oh, Merlin, it's been a nightmare. And since I'm a trainee, they've left me and the other trainees to deal with it all."

"What happened?"

"It said any paper that even _mentioned_ you-know-what had to be turned in, and of course, to tell the witches and wizards what they're supposed to look for, they _have_ to use the word in the paper. Except then everyone started mailing the Ministry copies of the Daily Prophet!"

"They sent us at least two hundred. And then the Prophet _itself_ caught on and bulk-mailed us an entire shipment through the floo! You couldn't see a bit of floor under all those papers, I swear."

Okay, there were a _lot_ of people who thought it was silly, then.

Mallory giggled. "But the paper must've sent out _other_ warnings before, yeah?"

"I know!" Tonks leaned in conspiratorially, "the aurors think witches and wizards did it because they're upset. We've been sending the Prophet like, two of these notices every week. At this point, witches and wizards are getting tired of being reminded of what they aren't supposed to know. It makes it even harder not to know about it, if it's always on your mind. You know?"

"Sure," Mallory nodded. Now she understood. The wizarding world was completely _bonkers._

Mallory almost held her breath as she asked the next question, "will… will all the protestors get into any sort of trouble?"

Another flinch.

"For what?"

"For… sending all those papers back to the Ministry?"

"Oh," Tonks snorted, "technically they were reporting usages of the word you-know-what, so it could be argued they were doing their duty. I don't think they _meant_ it in a bad way."

The trainee didn't look very concerned.

"But wouldn't complaining like that get you in trouble?"

Tonks flinched when Mallory said the word _protestors_. It was a valid concern.

"No, why would you think that?"

"Because complaining means you don't agree with the Ministry?" Mallory phrased it like a question.

"Hah," Tonks barked out a laugh, "we get hundreds of howlers every day. Yesterday, a wizard sent in a letter that tried to bite one of my fingers off. And I have to deal with that rubbish because all the trainees are— right of passage or some nonsense like that."

"The people who send those letters _don't_ get into trouble, then?" Mallory asked, just to confirm.

"No," Tonks looked confused, "why… I mean, it's just old Bathsheba. She thinks tiny faeries are living in her rosebushes, plotting to kill her. We've sent aurors to her house, but there's no one there. Everyone's convinced she's gone mad."

"They're all from one person?" Mallory was a bit confused.

"No, there's Pilliwickle, too. And a bunch of others. Though, Pilliwickle's quite funny. You see, he went into this resteraunt and we wanted to bring his pet occamy. He claims its his familiar," Tonks rolled her eyes, "and when they told him he couldn't eat with the thing there, he refused to leave! The resteraunt, of course, vomited him right out. Now he's claiming the building's saliva ate through his robes, and the occamy developed a rash."

Mallory goggled at her. _Yes, okay, the wizarding world is insane._

Another question popped into her head.

"What happens if you learn about you-know-what?" Mallory asked, "will you be taken to Azkaban?"

"Only if they know what you-know-what means."

What? How the fuck would they know—

Veritaserum.

"They're going to give truth serum to _every single person_ that anyone accuses of knowing about you-know-what?"

"Yes?"

"Do they usually ask about— well, let's say you _don't_ know about you-know-what, but they have you under truth serum. Would they ask you about _other_ bad things you've done?"

Tonks blinked. "Well, obviously, yes."

Wow. Okay, just— she wasn't sure what she ought to do with that. Off the top of her head, she'd be informing Danny about it using doublespeak, as soon as possible. And her parents. Given that witches and wizards still owned books on _Occlumency_, it seemed the spell didn't track the written word, so the taboo was a weak protection.

It'd likely only entrap the really stupid and ignorant.

This was also serving as a wakeup call. The Wizarding World was larger than Hogwarts and Diagon Alley. Her parents, with all their research, hadn't come across this in any book they'd read. And Mallory had no doubt they'd tell her _immediately_ if saying certain words could get her locked up in a prison.

In fact, now that Mallory was thinking about it, the taboo was a _really_ weak form of protection. All anyone had to do was use doublespeak and write down their illicit conversations. They could burn the paper afterwards.

This didn't match with the actions of an Auror Department that checked for ten kinds of obfuscation before letting her through the door.

"One last question," Mallory said, "and then I'll change the subject, I swear."

Tonks let out an irritated sigh, "_please_ don't."

"Does the thing we're not supposed to talk about, or a version of it, note what people write, too?"

Tonks made a face like she was constipated, "_yes,_ now please drop it. It's not _nice._"

Mallory gave Tonks her sweetest grin, "thank you!"

Books on Occlumency and papers mentioning Occlumency were likely old, then. Perhaps they were written _before_ they put up the taboo. Doublespeak would work, but writing anything down wouldn't. That was potentially critical information.

Mallory couldn't risk being pulled in by aurors for speaking too many forbidden words, especially as she got older. She didn't have parents who knew which words were forbidden and which words weren't, and her friends were likewise ignorant.

She'd have to be _extra_ careful.

Once the Aurors tested her under veritaserum, they'd _know_ she was ignorant, but there would then ask if she broke any _other_ laws.

And Mallory told Danny, a muggle, all about the wizarding world. That wasn't even getting started on what her _parents_ were planning to do.

She had secrets, people she needed to protect.

"Okay," Mallory drew the word out, "how about that?"

This time she was pointing at the animated map next to the Taboo Quill. She was hoping _this_ object wasn't going to open any sort of serious conversation.

"Oh," Tonks perked, "that's an enchanted map. It shows the location of where everyone is, inside Hogwarts."

Tonks pointed to a small drawing of the Auror's Temporary Office, with tiny dots depicting _Mallory Hopkins_ and _Nymphadora Tonks_ in the middle, and _Leland Harper_ in the corner.

"Let me guess," said Mallory, deadpan, "there's one covering all of Great Britain and we're not supposed to talk about it."

She could hear Harper choking on his spit, in the corner.

"Er—" Tonks stuttered, "I'm _really_ not supposed to talk about it."

_You've got to be fucking kidding me._ Forget leaving Hogwarts. She and her parents were going to have to leave _fucking_ Britain, at this rate. Mum and dad were going to flip _serious_ shit when they found all this out.

"Doesn't the map get confusing to read with all the norm— er— muggles?" Mallory asked. She was imagining a sea of overlapping black names.

In other words, camaflauge.

"Oh, it doesn't pick up muggles."

"Great," said Mallory, sarcastic. "Why did you even _tell me_ if you're not allowed to talk about it."

"We're _allowed_," Tonks looked confused, "but it's just not done."

It's taboo.

"But saying _map_ isn't bad?" Mallory asked, confused.

"It's a map of the school, here. _You_ were the one who brought up _other_ maps." said Tonks, defensive.

"How about that one?" Mallory changed the subject, and she could see how Tonks was relieved, shoulders drooping.

"That's a tally. We're keeping track of the number of people in Hogwarts at any time, but it's—" she shook her head.

"What?" Mallory asked.

"Parts of the castle won't appear on _any_ map. And they're resistant to the tally spell, as well. We've cordoned off a number of corridors that are resistant, but we haven't caught them all yet, so the numbers are off."

"Why's it resistant?"

"I don't know," Tonks shrugged, "parts of the castle are plain unmappable, and other parts of the castle didn't consent to being looked at."

Mallory tilted her head. It was interesting how Tonks said _looked at_ easily, like it was the natural the phrase to say. Except _watched_ would be a better term for it.

She added _watched_ to her list of words never to say, next to _occlumency,_ _protestors_, _taboo_, _Voldemort_ and _monitored._ She was considering adding other words like _spy_ and _surveillance_, too.

The Powers That Be in the wizarding world didn't take kindly to people speaking about their dirty habit of spying on everyone.

Mallory let out a huff of air.

"Tonks?" Mallory asked. There'd been an awful lot of silence since Tonks last spoke, and she went back to her papers in the meantime.

"Yeah, what's wrong?"

"What's a trainee auror do?" she was very, very bored.

"Mostly, minding the enchantments and shadowing the real aurors. Why?"

"Do you know what a superhero is?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Is there a wizard job for superhero?"

"Not really, though Dark Wizard Catcher and Auror are close."

"Neat," Mallory leaned over and looked at what Tonks was writing. Tonks drew back, scowling at Mallory.

"What is it? It's rude to read what other people are writing."

"Is that for the mystery? The Cracklewood Carver?"

"The investigation? Yeah."

"I have a theory." Mallory said.

"You do, do you?" Tonks gave her an exasperated look.

"I think it's someone _pretending_ to be the Carver, to hide the _real_ intended victim."

That wasn't entirely true, but she was curious how Tonks would react. If she was going to sit here, less than a meter away from _her own_ mystery, she was going to find out all they knew.

"Wow," said Tonks, "that's awful clever. I'll write it down and let Kingsley know when he's back."

"You're being sarcastic." Mallory crossed her arms, "I _know_ that's sarcastic."

"Real auror work is complicated, far more complicated than a firstie could get."

She _could hear_ that little constipated shitstain snickering in the background.

"I'll bet you don't even get to do any of the real auror work. You're just stuck on map duty."

Tonks narrowed her eyes, "are you _seriously_ trying to trick me into telling you about the investigation?"

Mallory perked, "is it working?"

"No."

Mallory slumped in her seat for a moment, before remembering what else she wanted to talk about.

"Lord Malfoy kept staring at you like you took a dump in his rosebushes. What did you _do?_"

Harper choked again, and Mallory admitted to herself that she may have phrased it that way just to see how he'd react.

Tonk's hair went red, "what?"

"He kept looking at you, and he'd curl up his lip like he'd smelt something awful, like you took a big smelly—"

"Yes, okay, thanks for the imagery." Tonks spoke in a rush, "_Merlin,_ kid."

"Okay, what did you do?" She barely refrained from swinging her legs back and forth under the table.

She doubted Tonks would have any idea why _Lady_ Malfoy kept staring at Mallory, but she suspected she'd know why _Lord_ Malfoy was giving Tonks the stink-eye. Any context on that family might prove useful, in the future.

Tonks blinked in surprise, "you're a muggleborn."

"Yes." Mallory said, deadpan.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like _that_, it's just—" Tonk was backpedaling, "everyone _knows_ about my family, so it's sort of weird to meet someone who has no idea."

"Okay," said Mallory, prompting her to continue.

"He's my uncle." said Tonks, "his wife's my aunt, but my mum was disinherited because she married my dad. He's a muggleborn, you see. And my mum's family, they're The Blacks."

"Okay?" Mallory was confused.

"Right, you wouldn't know. Well, there are some families that are really old— The Malfoys, the Selwyns, The Blacks, and a bunch of others. You're in Slytherin, so you likely had class with a few of them. Anyway, so these families, they're all pureblood. Now, anyone who's with the times knows blood doesn't matter one whit, but these families put stock in it."

Mallory nodded, "are they all Lords and Ladies, too?"

"Only a few," Tonks shrugged, "My mum's one of the notorious Black Sisters. There were three, but my mum was disowned for marrying my dad. My _other_ Aunt joined up with Death Eaters and died in Azkaban. She was disowned, too, for all the scandal. That leaves my Aun— Lady Malfoy, as the only _unsullied_ Black sister." Tonks rolled her eyes, using air-quotes around the word _unsullied._

"Oh," Mallory nodded, "so Lord Malfoy doesn't like you, because you remind everyone that his wife is the only one that didn't go— well, not _bad_, but in his mind—"

"I wouldn't presume _anything_ about what Lord Malfoy is thinking, if you take my drift. Your guess is as good as mine." Tonks shrugged.

"He kept flinching everytime you turned your nose into a funny shape." stated Mallory, "How did you do that? I want to do that."

She figured Tonks already knew her uncle was uncomfortable with her… shapeshifting. But it could only be seen as a helpful gesture by Tonks. Building some repertoire with Tonks couldn't hurt. She hadn't missed how Tonks almost called Lady Malfoy _Aunt._

And Tonk's shapeshifting spell was awesome.

Not only because turning her hair whatever color she wanted would be fun, but because if Tonks could shift her features however she liked, then the trainee was _seriously_ misusing that spell.

If Mallory could shift her features however she liked, she'd impersonate an auror and already be out of the castle. She could look like anyone and get inside any building she wanted. She could _pretend to be Danny._ Better yet, she could pretend to be Selwyn and backchat teachers, and then they'd give _Selwyn_ detention for things she'd done.

It would be the best joke, ever.

"That's because I'm a metamorphmagus. It's really rare. Only the oldest and purest magical lines are supposed to be able to produce metamorphmagi." Tonks said this with a little smirk, and winked at Mallory.

"But your dad's a muggleborn." Mallory said.

Tonks gave her a shit-eating grin. "I _know._"

_Ah,_ so _that's_ why Lord Malfoy hated her so much. She wanted to bet his perfect little pureblood son hadn't inherited that special talent, and he was all kinds of furious that his half-blood neice did.

Harper, from his corner, was pretending _very hard_ to read his book.

"I can't learn to be a metamorphmagi, can I?" Mallory asked, just in case.

Harper snorted from his corner, "only a muggle would think _that._"

Mallory turned around in her chair to glare at him. "You're picking a fight with me _now?_"

"Because you're _stupid._ Any good wizard knows you're only ever the sum of your parents. A great family makes a great wizard."

"That's a load of rubbish," scolded Tonks, "and you'll do well to mind your tongue around me."

"You're not a professor."

"No, but I'm a trainee auror under Alastor Moody. I can hex you seven ways to sunday and there's not a thing you can do about it."

"My parents would sue you," he scoffed.

"Actually," said Mallory, "I think I like this sum of the parents thing. See, my parents are _awesome_, and yours raised you to be a stupid bigoted little pimple on my arse, so they _must_ be the worst."

Tonks dropped her face into her hand, "stop _fighting,_" she groaned.

"And aren't you a half blood anyway?" Mallory asked, "just like Tonks."

Harper spluttered in outrage, "my _grandmother_— but the rest of my family is pure! And you're not allowed to say anything about my blood status. You're a mudblood!"

"Hey!" shouted Tonks, "say that one more time and I'm cleaning out your mouth with a good _scourgify!_"

"Take it back!" shouted Harper.

"Take _what_ back?" scoffed Mallory, "the part where I said you're a pimple on my arse, or the part where I called you stupid?"

If she got him to say _No, don't take back the part where you called me bad names, instead take back the part where you said my blood wasn't pure_, she was awarding herself double the points.

"You're stupid _and_ a squib!" hissed Harper.

"Hey!" said Tonks, "that's an awful thing to say, stop it!"

"Do you _want_ me to light your arse on fire, again?" Mallory asked.

"Enough!" Tonks shrieked, sparks shooting out her wand. Her hair was sticking straight out like she'd been shocked by electricity.

"He started it." Mallory pointed at Harper.

"I don't _care_ who started it!" Tonks hissed, "now both of you, be quiet!"

Mallory wasn't sure exactly how long she spent being _quiet_. It felt like an eternity, but it was likely less than a minute.

"Tonks?"

The trainee let out a long sigh, "yes?"

"You look like you're having problems. You should work it out outloud, and then that'd help."

"You just don't give up, do you?"

"Nope," Mallory chirped, "mum says I'm incorri— incorrigish?"

"Incorrigible. Tell her I agree with her."

Mallory smiled widely, "I will!" And sooner than she'd think.

Tonks looked down, then glanced back up to see Mallory still smiling widely at her. As psychological warfare went, it worked well. Tonks looked rather unnerved.

"What _is it_?"

"I've got some dead clever advice."

"Not on the investigation, you don't."

"No, on your power! The metawhatsit-thingy!"

"Metamorphmagus."

Mallory thought she heard that pathetic snivelling arsewipe let out a groan behind her.

"Yep, I have advice on that."

Tonks put down her quill. "_Really?_"

"You've been pretending to make pig and duck faces, and change your hair, but— I mean, what if you changed between _people faces?_ You could pretend to be _anyone_. And you could make your hands into swords, or into claws like Wolverine, or be like Mystique and spy on people or—"

At that, Tonks' face rippled and suddenly Mallory was staring at an exact duplicate of herself.

Tonks-as-Mallory sat in too-large auror robes, black hair frizzing about her ears and staring at the _real_ Mallory with one eyebrow raised.

_"Wicked!"_ Mallory grinned, "pretend to be Selwyn and get him in detention. Or better yet, have him go up to Snape and call him a— uh, oh! Call Snape a dickmuncher while pretending to be Selwyn! It'll be great!"

Tonks, still disguised as Mallory, threw back her head and laughed. "Oh, you're too much. But that's not even —_hah_ — You don't even _want_ to know the sort of mischief I got up to, when I was at Hogwarts."

"Now I _definitely_ want to know."

"Well, I can't tell you. Ask again when you're seventeen."

Mallory tilted her head, "why then?"

"Oh dear Merlin. Because then you'll be an adult."

"It's adult stuff, then? Adult stuff is boring. Except for mysteries, mysteries are good. Do you want to solve the mystery with me now? If we solve it together, you'll look extra clever to your boss."

Tonks shifted back to her normal face, with violent blue hair. "_Why_ did I volunteer for this?"

"Please?" Mallory begged.

Tonks glared, then her face twisted into snotty amusement, "alright, see if you can tell me this: why is it that half of Slytherin is under memory charms?"

"Really?" Mallory raised her brow, suddenly nervous. That was a much greater conspiracy than she figured.

"Yes, really. Now you see why—"

"Is it all the seventh and all the second years?" Mallory asked.

"What?" Tonks frowned, "no. It's most of the upper years and a few of the younger."

Huh. "Okay, everyone at secret hazing ritual thing was in seventh year, second year, or first year. I don't think it'd take that many people, just to kill off Rowle, me, and shitface, so—"

"You're such a freak, Hopkins."

Mallory ignored him, "_so,_ that means… wait, is that whole truth-serum questioning people about everything still in effect?"

"Mostly, yeah?" Tonks frowned. "The mass memory erasure wasn't related to Rowle's death, then?"

"Or it was used to hide the _real_ accompl— the real murder-helpers."

"Uh huh, well, you're doing just about as well as I am. Good work! If that's somehow helpful, I'll transfigure you a badge, alright?"

"She thinks you're an idiot, Hopkins, in case you can't tell." Harper, the dipshit, responded from the back.

"If I have to spend five more minutes in this room with you, I'll—"

"No!" hissed Tonks, "No fighting!"

"He started it!"

"I don't give a damn who—" Tonks glanced down, breaking off mid-sentence.

The magic-mirror on her desk was blinking. "One sec, I need to get this, _then_ you're both getting yelled at."

Tonks raised the mirror to her face, "yes?"

"There's… something odd going on here. Are you by the map?" spoke the tinny voice of an auror.

"Sure, yeah. What's going on?"

"Some portraits are slashed, and there's bloodstains all over the third floor northern corridor." His tinny voice sounded strained, "a bunch of students said they saw bodies, bodies like the Carver victims, and we're thinking—"

"No kidding, okay, I'll check." said Tonks, suddenly grim.

And Mallory? Mallory was doing her very best to keep a straight face, because holy _fuck_ Colin and Kit came through. Felix must've told them Sprout was a minion of the Enemy, and they were trying to rescue her by creating a giant distraction.

Of course, the second Tonks checked those maps she'd realize—

"Tonks," Mallory said, eyes wide and tone panicked, "we need to get out of here."

"What?" Tonks looked up from the map.

"You _know_ who the Carver is here for. We're the only victims that got away, _ever._ We need to get out of Hogwarts, now."

Harper jumped to his feet. "I…" he stumbled, "yeah. I want to leave, too. I can't do that again."

"He said there's _bodies._" Mallory emphasized.

"Is something wrong?" spoke the auror on the other end. "Hello?"

Tonks looked between the map and the two first years.

"Please, please," Mallory widened her eyes, "just let us wait in the Auror Department until you figure out what's going on. If it's nothing, we can just come back. Don't make us go through that again."

"Can you hold on a second?" asked Tonks, to the person on the mirror.

Mallory held her breath.

"Quickly, take my hand." Tonks said, holding out her hands to Harper and Mallory.

It took everything, _everything_ Mallory had not to break out grinning or let out a whoop of victory. This was it. This was finally it.

A whole new set of problems lay in wait on the other side of the fireplace, but _this was her chance!_

Tonks tugged the two of them closer to her sides, dropped some floo powder into the empty fireplace, and said "Auror Department!"


	16. The Cracklewood Carver Part 7

The world under Mallory _lurched_ out from under her bellybutton, spinning her dizzyingly fast. She clutched Tonks _hard_ as they whirled through green flames before it spat them out onto stone.

Mallory took two steps and fell right over.

The Ministry of Magic's Auror Department was a fishbowl. The room was arranged in steps, like a university classroom, except the steps extended all around the border of the room. The fireplace opened on the floor level, opposite the main doors.

It was lit only by candlelight, dim with the edges of the room fading into indistinguishable darkness. There were no windows, only tall marble columns.

Mallory pulled herself to her feet. Her legs were wobbly, and her palms were sweating. Standing at the bottom of a fishbowl, with everyone's eyes on her and Harper, made it only worse. Her heart pounded in her chest.

Tactically, it was a sound strategy. Assuming that apparition was impossible inside the Department, then the only way in or out was through the fireplace or the door.

If anyone wanted to get in, they'd be forced through the bottleneck and dropped into what basically amounted to a kill-zone. All the Auror desks were looking down on the entrance and exit, at different levels. They were free to fire on whomever broke in, without risking accidentally hitting each other.

It also meant that everyone had a perfect view of Mallory's arrival.

Kingsley stood up from his desk immediately, "what's happened?"

The couple Aurors that stood up when Mallory, Harper, and Tonks entered through the fire, sat down as Kinsley assumed authority over the situation.

"I don't—" Tonks broke off, "there's blood in one of the hallways, portraits slashed, and students are saying they saw dead bodies. I thought I'd take the children here, first, just in case."

Kingsley nodded, "good work, let's go."

Kingsley pointed to another Auror, a man with a rusty red beard and thick glasses, "check these two over for polyjuice, the whole lot. I don't want any oversights."

And with that, Auror Kingsley and Trainee Tonks rushed back into the fire.

It'd take them, what, maybe a minute to realize they'd been duped? This wasn't ideal, not by a long shot.

Rusty the Auror muttered a few spells, spritzed them with the portable thief's downfall, and finally declared them to be two ordinary first years.

With that, the entire Auror department collectively lost interested in them.

Mallory edged her way up the side of the room, Harper following close behind. She needed to find an Auror stupid enough to let her leave the fishbowl without a guard. That was her goal. From there, she could get out of the building.

But she'd have to do that fast. There wouldn't be any time for dallying. At any moment Kingsley and Tonks could pop back through the fire, declaring that it was all a hoax. If Tonks and Kingsley got back before Mallory escaped, then Felix and her friends would've gotten in trouble for nothing.

From her vantage point, Mallory took in the room. What was she looking for? Someone stupid? No. It'd be hard to tell, just by looking. What _other_ characteristics would she need in a properly gullible adult. Arrogance, maybe. Pity, laziness, perhaps a very _busy_ adult, who couldn't be bothered to take her to the loo.

Except Auror Moody ran this place. He was methodical and hardcore, as far as defense and protection went.

No, that wasn't helpful.

Desks.

If Auror Moody forced everyone in line, then she had to look for the desks that _weren't_ like the others. The sore thumb, the person who didn't mesh well with the rest of the group. _That_ was the person most likely to break the rules for Mallory.

Almost all the desks were fairly neat, which meant her dissenter would be messy. If not a _messy_ desk, then an Auror who was furiously scribbling over a report, and didn't want to be bothered.

She glanced around the room, and then identified her mark.

"Wait here," she whispered to Harper, "I'm going to ask an Auror to use the loo."

Harper dealt with, she winded her way up the stairs and around to the Auror who's desk was overflowing with paper. The Auror behind the desk was wearing red robes, and was as bald as a newborn chick. Better still, he was scribbling on a piece of parchment, looking far too busy to deal with the needs of any irksome child.

"Hello," Mallory said.

The Auror looked up, and sighed with irritation the moment he saw who was bothering him. "You're the children that trainee brought in." He frowned, "go sit in the back and keep quiet."

Mallory glanced behind her, realizing Harper followed her there like a particularly irritating fly.

"I need to use the loo." Mallory said, not moving an inch.

The Auror looked back up from his paperwork, adjusting his glasses to glare at her properly. "I don't—"

"I _really_ need to go." Mallory's voice turned tight, like she was straining to hold it in.

"I'll go with her," said Harper.

The Auror looked down at his paper, and then looked back up at the two children.

"Can you just tell us where it is?" Mallory asked, "we'll be right back."

_Please, please, please,_ she stared him straight in the eye, giving him her most piteous and innocent expression.

The Auror rolled his eyes, and huffed, "You'd better. I don't want to go and have to look for you."

"Thank you!" Mallory said, and she meant it.

"Go out the main door and make a left, it's right there, you can't miss it."

"Thanks again!" Mallory said, and jogged toward the door, Harper hot in pursuit.

It truly amazed her, sometimes, how thick adults could be. Even _she_ hadn't expected that to work.

How many minutes had already passed, she wondered. Three? Four? Mallory almost ran, keeping her stride at a fast walk. If she outright ran, someone might stop her. And if Mr. Busy Auror wasn't well liked, another Auror would override his command.

* * *

The second the door shut behind them Harper grabbed her arm.

"You're behind all this, I know it!" Harper accused, "This is like before, in the potions classroom."

His eyes were narrowed in anger, lips pressed in a thin line.

She didn't have time for this. She didn't have time to muddle through whatever Harper was thinking, and chase him off. There were too many variables in this equation, already. Outside the Auror's office was a long marble corridor, not a waiting room like she'd thought.

Mallory had no idea where she was, or where to go. In fact, she wasn't even sure where in Britain the Auror office was, in the first place.

She _didn't have time_ to deal with whiny, _vexing_ boys like Leland Harper.

"I'm not!" hissed Mallory, "I'm taking advantage of the situation, just like you."

"This whole time you've wanted to leave Hogwarts, and you even _said_ you were going to use a floo!"

"We got lucky." Mallory insisted. _They had to get moving._

"No, you planned all this from the start. You had us both moved to the Auror's office, and now with the attack—"

He wasn't going to let up, was he?

And wow, was he giving her _way_ too much credit.

"Yes," Mallory lied, tone sardonic and cutting, "I admit it. I'm the mastermind behind it all, and I won't have you mucking up my plans, so let's _go_, already. There's no time."

If he went back to the Aurors, there was a good chance he'd nark on her. Then she'd be caught for sure.

It was almost better that he thought she was some sort of diabolical mastermind. He wouldn't feel the need to _constantly_ second-guess her. He might even be _useful_, if he'd just shut up and follow her orders for once, instead of whining and arguing with her.

Harper looked back, uncertain. "I don't—"

Okay, she took that back. He was _still_ hesitating.

"That attack _wasn't fake._" Mallory hissed, "the Carver's at Hogwarts and we have to run, _now!_"

"But we're at the Auror—"

She practically growled, tone biting and eyes tight, "The Auror Department, which has a direct floo to Hogwarts, where the Carver is now _actively rampaging._ No one's caught him in two decades and he can kill people in an instant. Do you want to be here when _he_ gets here?"

"No, but—"

"Do you want to die? Because we'll _die_ if we stay here."

Harper looked between Mallory's most solemn face, and the closed door to the Auror Department.

"Okay," he nodded, swallowing, "how are we getting out of here?"

Mallory grabbed his wrist with her good arm, hoping he was instinctively rehashing how she'd grabbed his wrist in the Forest—

Stop.

She was hoping he'd associate it blindly with someone saving his worthless arse.

"Through the front door," Mallory said, "come on."

They walked fast, but Mallory forced herself not to run. Running was generally suspicious. A brisk but confident pace was best for not being noticed in places you weren't supposed to be.

In a word, the Ministry of Magic could be described as _ostentatious._ The floors were black-and-white marble, with marble columns and a marble ceiling. The detail work, bezels, railings, and motifs, were all done in solid gold.

Garish, ugly, like someone found a list of expensive materials somewhere, and tossed all those things together in a blender, until it vomited out an extremely expensive eyesore.

If she were an adult, she'd gouge her eyes out before she'd work here.

Two adults passed them in the hallway, but neither stopped Mallory or Harper.

"Where are we going?" hissed Harper.

"Have you ever been here before?" Mallory asked, evading his question.

"No, not really."

"Not really _how_?"

"My dad took me here a couple times, but we didn't come to this floor."

Okay, so there were multiple floors. Good to know. Now, if only he knew where the exit was, so they could go _there_ instead of wandering the hallways like two ninnies.

"Do you know where the staircases are?"

"I didn't go to this floor."

"Usually the layout's similar on every floor of a building."

"No it isn't. And why are we looking for a staircase?"

"We need to get to the ground floor, the lobby, wherever people enter and exit from. The area that's open to the public, you know?"

"We took the elevator."

"Okay." Mallory nodded, "then we're going to the elevator."

A third adult was spotted on the far end of the corridor. She was a woman in her mid thirties, witches robes neat and black. Her hair was pulled back in a bun like Professor McGonagall's.

"Okay," Mallory repeated, voice low so only Harper could hear, "you're my brother, and we're ten years old. We're dressed up as Hogwarts students because we're so excited to be going next year. Our parents are downstairs in the lobby, and we got separated from them."

"What?" hissed Harper.

And there wasn't time to explain again, because any moment now the witch would be in earshot. Fuck, where was Danny when she _needed_ him?

"Just follow my lead." Mallory said, tugging Harper forwards and toward the witch.

She must've had her eye on them, because she slowed down a bit as she saw the two approach.

"Is something the matter?" the witch asked, brows raised in curiosity.

"Actually," Mallory said, pitching her voice a bit higher than usual, affecting the voice of a young and eager child, "can you help us? We're lost." She dropped her eyes, looking mournful, and a bit abashed.

"Are you Hogwarts students? What are you doing here?"

"Oh!" Mallory lit up, bouncing on her heels "I'm going next year, and I'm _ever_ so excited. We had mum and dad make our robes look like proper Hogwarts robes and _everything._"

The woman's eyes crinkled as she laughed, "that's sweet, but—" the woman's brows drew together, "you said you're lost?"

"Mum and dad _told_ us not to wander off but—"

"It's your fault," said Harper, finally joining in, "you're the one who had to use the loo."

"Shut up, stupid." Mallory hissed, before spinning to address the woman, "mum and dad told us to meet them in the lobby, but we can't find the elevator. Can you show us where it is?"

"Yes, sure, of course." The woman shook her head, and added as an afterthought, "you ought to be nicer to your brother."

At that she looked between the two of them, likely noticing how Mallory was tall, had dark eyes and dark hair, while Harper was short with dishwasher blonde hair and blue eyes.

"He's only my half—"

"Our mum and dad will be looking for us," said Harper, stomping on Mallory's foot in warning.

What? Oh. Wizards. Weird byzantine rules. Divorce and remarrying was probably another one of those things that just _wasn't done_ or talked about. Good catch on Harper's part. She'd have to thank him, once they were alone, again.

"Right, of course." the woman said, "this way."

* * *

The woman didn't follow them into the elevator. She had a job on that floor, and was rather busy. It was fortunate, because Mallory and Harper had no _parents_ waiting for them in the lobby.

The elevator didn't look safe. It was old, metal, and had far to many leavers and nozzles for any proper elevator Mallory had ever seen.

_Luckily_, Harper said the shower handle that had a printer "L" on the tap meant "lobby," so Mallory pulled the handle.

She immediately regretted it.

Mallory and Harper clung to the railings as the elevator went horizontal then vertical, faster than any safe elevator ought to go. Several flying paper airplanes joined them, along with four office workers from another floor.

What was it about wizarding travel that made it so _bloody_ uncomfortable?

When the elevator dinged L for lobby, the two scurried off, taking in the sight.

"You're a liar," said Harper, now that their conversation could be drowned out by the loud cacophony that was the lobby of the Ministry of Magic.

There were floo-fireplaces lining the length of one wall, and dozens of people were entering and leaving in one great hurry, filling the large chamber with echoing voices of the crowd.

"No I'm not," Mallory responded absently, distracted.

"You're a _good_ liar." said Harper, again. "You tricked me, didn't you?"

Mallory turned to Harper, giving him a look of great condescension, "if I tricked you, d'you think I'd actually _tell_ you that?"

"We're going to be in so much trouble!" hissed Harper.

"I didn't trick you, I said it in the first place I didn't have anything to do with anything, you were the one who wouldn't believe—"

There was a change in the crowd, a shift in tone or _something._

The groups and clusters of people were _moving out of the way of someone_, and fast. Even the noise level in the room was changing, raised voices and shouts of alarm.

_Bollocks._

"Come on, we have to go, _now._"

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

Great! Which meant this festering pile of sphincter drippings was going to get caught by the Aurors, and subsequently give away her position! _Fuck._

"Fine!" Mallory snapped, "I hope the Carver gets you and _eats out your eyeballs_!"

She didn't mean it, not a word of it. But boy, did the look of shock on Harper's face make it worth it. He deserved a good whack across the nose, acting like he did.

With that, she ducked into the mass of witches and wizards, weaving between them in the general direction of the fireplaces. Being eleven worked out in her favor, since she was shorter than almost all the adults.

If the Aurors tried looking for her in this crowd, even with their pointing charms and magic maps, they'd have trouble finding her.

A wall of fireplaces stretched out before her. Witches and wizards took a scoop of floo-powder, dashed it in the fireplace, shouting where they meant to go.

Mallory scurried in line, and luckily it was a short line, and waited her turn. The itching in the back of her skull reminded her that time was short. She physically had to stop herself from fidgeting and twitching. Acting anxious around adults would only draw their attention.

Finally, _finally_ it was her turn, and she scooped a handful of the powder, dashed it into the fire, and shouted, "Diagon Alley!"

* * *

She'd actually done it.

Mallory Hopkins was standing in the Leaky Cauldron, gobsmacked.

All those Aurors, all their planning and worrying, and it amounted to nothing. She, a first year Slytherin student, had slipped past their security and was now two steps from muggle London.

She wanted to laugh, to bounce around or giggle madly. The _rest_ of her brain reminded her that she wasn't out of the woods quite yet, and she still needed to call her parents. Worse, she forgot her bag in Hogwarts.

Mallory Hopkins didn't have any money to make the call.

A little note of despair rose in her, because there were only so many problems she could handle. This was too much.

_One problem at a time,_ she reminded herself, and walked confidently to the door of the Leaky Cauldron, and out into muggle London.

It was 5 PM in muggle London, the streets were crowded with cars, cabbies, and pedestrians. The smell of petrol stung her nose, almost as repulsive as the rank smell drifting up from the sewers.

Charing Cross Road was boxed in on either side by tall narrow buildings, with shops under the apartments. A bus stop sat squat on the corner of Charing Cross and Tottenham Court, and next to that was a red telephone box.

First thing's first, she thought. Mallory peeled off her robe, leaving her in normal muggle clothes, a t-shirt and jeans. She rolled the robe up and tied it around her waist, like a lumpy jumper. It wouldn't do to attract awkward attention from adults.

Next, she needed to get in a crowd.

If she was right, people were searching for her. The existence of those maps meant the best place to hide was in a crowd in Wizarding Britain. Except, she needed to contact her parents, first.

Once she'd done that, she'd hide in Diagon Alley, in a crowded area, until they could come and pick her up. She'd already realized that her parents would have to come to her, not the other way around.

There was simply no way she could get all the way to Dartmoor without Aurors picking her up. The crowds would make her hard to find in Wizarding Britain, and lurking in crowded places in muggle London might also work.

Just because they could locate her on a map didn't mean they could apparate into the middle of a crowd of muggles and snatch her. The wizards would have to hunt her down on foot. And from what Mallory had seen of wizards, they were hopelessly stupid when it came to blending in with muggles.

She'd spot them miles away, and would vanish into the crowd before they knew what even happened.

Encouraged, she stalked forward into the crowd of pedestrians, making her way toward the bus stop.

There were five people waiting, three women and two men. One man was an older gentleman, maybe seventy or so. The girls were together, teenagers around Gemma Farley's age. It was incredibly rude, she knew, to go up to random adults and ask for money. In the first place, random strangers didn't appreciate people walking up to them and _speaking_ to them, at all.

But Mallory was a child. Children were often awarded more leeway, when it came to such things.

Mallory targeted the teenage girls, first.

"Sorry," Mallory said, sounding uncertain, "but— er— my mum was supposed to come pick me up, but she hasn't yet."

The girls didn't look over at first. The one Mallory was talking to hadn't realized Mallory was speaking to her. Then her friend nudged her, and she looked over.

"What's wrong?" the girls brows were furrowed, more in confusion than sympathy.

"My mum," Mallory said, louder, "she hasn't picked me up. It's been an hour, and I'm really worried. I want to call her, but I don't have any money on me. Can you lend me it? Mum'd pay you back when she gets here."

The girl gave Mallory a look of derision, "piss off."

Right. Okay, then. Moving on.

Mallory bypassed the rest of the girl's friends entirely. They seemed like the sort to do what their friends did, and she suspected she'd get no further with them.

"Sorry—" Mallory said at one of the men.

"I don't have any money on me, beg somewhere else." said a man. He was a slimy sort, in a business suit with a fancy umbrella tucked under his arm.

"I'm not begging," Mallory's tone was indignant, "I need to call my mum."

"Leave us alone." He gave her a mean look, like he was quite cross with her.

"Over here," said the older gentleman, sitting on the bench. He was holding up a handful of change.

"Oh my god," Mallory gaped, "_thank you,_" and rushed right over to him.

"Now," the man's tone was stern, "I'm going to watch you make that call. And if you run off with this to spend it on sweets, I'm reporting you to an officer, do you understand? What's your name?"

"Patricia Wayne, and I understand."

Mallory gave her mum's maiden name. It was the obvious thing to do, when you knew your enemy could track _words said out loud in Great Britain,_ and you knew they were looking for you. She wasn't sure how the maps and taboo worked, and without that certainty, she couldn't know if her name could easily be added to a list, or if the maps were search-able.

She wasn't going to do _anything_ that'd make their jobs easier for them, it was simply out of the question.

He held out his hand, and she took the coins, sighing in relief.

"_Thank you,_ I mean it. You're saving my life." She couldn't say more, she really couldn't, because the man might start asking awkward questions. She didn't want him calling an officer. But she needed him to know how grateful she was— because she was a rotten pickpocket and would've never gotten home without his help.

"You're welcome."

"What's your name?" Mallory asked, "I'll have my mum do something nice. I mean it, we'll pay you back."

She'd have dad bake him a cake, or something.

"William Barnes, I'm in the phone-book."

"William Barnes," Mallory nodded, "okay, I'll remember."

Mallory ran straight into the red telephone box, which was next to the bus stop, and locked herself in.

The old man was generous, she had enough for maybe four calls.

Four calls.

Fuck it, she was calling him. She _had_ to call him. There was nothing for it, she needed to hear her friend's voice.

Mallory inserted the coins, dialed a number she'd known by heart since she was six years old, and held the receiver to her ear. Even the dial tone sounded nostalgic and welcome.

"Pearce residence, who's this?" said Mrs. Pearce, Danny's mum. Danny's mum didn't like Mallory, and had deluded herself into believing Mallory was a bad influence on her son.

It was needless to say that Danny's mum lived in a fantasy land. Out of the two of them, _Danny_ was the bad influence. _He_ was the one who wanted to become a Secret Mastermind, with all the big plans about secret super-powered conspiracies. _She_ wanted to be a superhero.

Take _that_, Mrs. Pearce.

"Hi Mrs. Pearce, is Danny there? This is Lena from class." Mallory said, affected a higher tone.

Lena was a girl in their year who was well-known to be studious and hard-working. She was sweet, and had overbearing parents quite like Mrs. Pearce. They weren't only obsessed with their daughter's image, but her grades, as well. Once, Lena had burst into tears when she got a 95% on a spelling test. Mallory and Danny thought the girl was _bonkers._

"Lena?" asked Mrs. Pearce, sounding curious and a bit surprised. Before she could get another word in, Mallory interrupted.

"We have a group project due, and I wanted to sort out when we'll meet." Mallory said, mimicking Lena's precise clipped tone. The girl spoke like she was putting on airs.

Mrs. Pearce let out an irritated huff into the receiver. "Of course. I'll get him."

"Hello?" Danny's voice crackled over the receiver, and Mallory almost let out a sob of relief.

"Don't say my name. Yes, it's me. _Don't say my name._"

There was a pause. "Okaaay, may I ask why? How are you on a phone, anyway. I thought your parents grounded you."

Great, Mrs. Pearce was still lurking around Danny. In this case, Danny was using _grounded_ to mean that Mallory was supposed to be in Scotland, with no access to a telephone.

"I, uh," Mallory swallowed, "I ran away from school."

There was a short pause, he was surprised. "What happened?"

"I got your letter," Mallory's voice cracked, "but—" she sniffed.

"Is someone _looking for you?_" he hissed into the receiver, "mum's gone, finally."

"The girl I talked about, the bully? She's dead," Mallory wiped her cheek, "she was murdered, um—"

"Holy fuck."

"Yeah," a laugh, "I know— oh god, don't say her name, either. No names. I— we were kidnapped."

"Wait, are you still—?" _are you near the kidnappers?_

"No, fuck no. I got away. The school— the headmaster found us, but her killer's still out there and I think he's looking for me, too. I think I was the target all along, because my parents aren't _special._"

"You ran away."

"Yeah, but— I meant— I meant to go to Dufftown, walk there over the weekend, take a bus to London and then home. But then I found— they can _track_ people. They can track what anyone says, even."

"They? Who's they? Where are you now?"

"London, on the corner of Charing Cross and Tottenham Court. And _they_ are the special-people-police. They were called in when bully-girl was murdered. They track _everyone_ all across Great Britain. It's fucking creepy. They can tell if you say certain words on a list, they can find you on their map, anywhere in Britain. And they can teleport, so basically I'm fucked."

"That's… that's a lot of constraints on the problem, yeah. Okay, so, off the top of my head, you'll want to stick to crowded areas."

"I thought of that, yeah."

"Okay, are you safe where you are, now?"

"God, I don't know."

"Will you be safe if you come home, with the teleportation and all?"

"I don't know, I think so. My parents don't know— I'm going to call them next. I just— I needed to—"

"Yeah, I missed you, too."

A little sound that might've been a sob strangled it's way out her throat. "I won't be safe at home."

Outside her little red telephone box, the bus was arriving. The older gentleman gave her a wave, and Mallory waved back. She forced a happy and grateful smile onto her face. The snooty teenagers rolled their eyes at her, and the slimy business man didn't even glance back. Prick.

"Alright, where will you be safe? Short term for now, we'll sort out long term in a bit."

"Any special adult can teleport. They have a map that can pick out special people anywhere in Great Britain. I got— I only got here because I helped blackmail the headmaster into getting me a bodyguard—"

"Holy shit, how?"

"I overheard a suspicious and faked conversation by two people who definitely were talking about this confidential thing on purpose near me and my friends," she breathed, voice wobbly and high pitched, "and I think it was a warning, but it was a puzzle piece and it fit—"

"Slow down, take a breath."

"Two people said protections on the school were failing." Mallory took a breath, "and that the headmaster refused to renew them, because of his morals. Some of the protections were sketchy, apparently. The two thought Row— bully-girl was murdered by something that got through the protections, because they're failing."

"They said this in front of you?" his tone was incredulous, "that sounds sort of… staged."

"Yeah, that's exactly what I thought!" she breathed, excited. She _knew_ he'd get it. "Anyway, the headmaster didn't want to assign me any protectors— we were in the room with the special police, and this rich dad, Lord Arseface, who's on the Board, whatever that means. His son said something about his dad trying to get the headmaster sacked, and that he didn't have enough sway."

"A student killed under his watch due to his failings would definitely give him enough sway."

"Yeah, and I told all this to the professor who was helping me, and she might've said something hinting that she overheard the conversation, and the headmaster reversed his decision right after. Thing is, I don't think—"

She took a deep breath, "I don't think the killer will give up, just because I've gone home."

"If they wanted to send a message, if it's political, then no, they wouldn't."

"Home isn't safe."

"No," Danny sighed, and it came across as crackling through the receiver. "Arseface is a lord on our side, too? An Earl or Duke?"

"I've no idea. Does it matter?"

"Maybe. I dunno. Just thinking." there was a short pause, "did you see the kidnapper?"

"No, I— it happened in the woods. My house had this hazing ritual, and it was interrupted. We were snatched. Wi— uh— special people can wipe memories, and implant false memories, so—"

"Holy fuck, what?" he screeched.

Mallory had to hold the phone away from her ear for a moment. Jesus.

"Yeah," Mallory spoke over his exclamations, "so I don't know if what I remember is even real."

"Holy fuck! Okay, so— wait, go on. Let me just absorb this for a sec— what, mom? No, no it's fine. Yeah, no. Okay. Yeah. _Lena_, talk."

Great. His mum was hovering around again.

"I don't know if I saw anything real, but we were— me, the kid who flipped me upside down the first night— don't use his name either, and bully-girl—"

"Her name, yeah. I got it."

"We were suddenly in the bad part of the forest, and it was freezing and dark, and all the sudden she just went all like _Silence of the Lambs_ had a fucking love child with the _Evil Dead_. She was alive one second, and the next this—"

"Really gross?"

"Yeah. Remember that scene in _Silence of the Lambs_ where he strings up the security guards outside his cell?"

"Yep."

"It was like that, but _way_ worse."

"Wow. In a split second?"

"Yeah, which is why I think my memory was messed with."

"Call your parents and call me back after." Danny sounded irritated, likely at his mother, "I'll work things out on my end."

"Okay, you're—" her voice wobbled, "I really missed you."

"I'm the best, I know. Me too."

"Talk to you in a bit."

"Yeah, later."

Click. She hung up, swallowing hard.

But it helped. It had helped to talk about it with Danny, to hear his voice. She'd fucking missed it, missed his advice. And it was good, knowing she was doing what he would do in this situation. She had been scared she was missing something obvious, and she let out a breath of relief knowing he came to the same conclusions she did.

At that, Mallory glanced outside of her phone booth. Staying still in one location was stupid. But she didn't know where the next phone booth was located. Luckily, she didn't see anyone in suspicious robes heading her way. For that matter, no one was heading in her direction, or making a bee-line toward the phone booth, or otherwise acting suspiciously.

For now, she was safe.

The next phone call would be harder.

She was going to have to tell her parents everything, and she was dreading it.

Mum and dad taught her how to be a hero, even if they didn't mean for her to take it so literally.

Mum chose to do what's right, even when it hurt her. When a teenager in the neighborhood got pregnant, everyone snubbed the girl. Mum came over with a basket of baby-things and offered to babysit for her.

Half of the neighborhood thought mum _approved_ of the girl after that. Like the girl's one action was all they needed to know everything about her. And mum choosing to help her was all they needed to judge _mum._ They didn't want their kids playing with Mallory, and excluded mum from social events.

And you know what mum said? That she'd do it again. _Fuck_ them, she was no coward. And it wouldn't have mattered, but mum kept doing things like that. She wrote angrily-worded letters to companies she felt cheated her. She defended her unpopular political opinions at family gatherings, even when it meant Uncle Simon stopped inviting them over.

It wasn't heroic like pulling people out from a moving train, but it _mattered._ It mattered that mum didn't give up, even when it cost her something she loved.

Mum was the reason Mallory and Danny didn't pick on that kid that wet himself in class. They went after the bullies, the kids that were mean and took pleasure in _hurting_ others. It was a prelude to taking down super-villains with her awesome superpowers.

But being good was never _difficult._ It wasn't hard for her to avoid picking on weak people. She didn't want to pick on them. Sure, they sometimes peed themselves in class or spent two hours examining their bogies. But she could take out that irritation on someone who deserved it more.

She thought that meant she was _good,_ because being mean wasn't a huge temptation. She didn't feel _tempted_ to use her powers in class, didn't want to pummel losers.

For all her life, it confused the heck out of her when her parents claimed that being good was hard. She said she understood, but she'd lied.

Privately, she thought it meant being good was hard _for her parents._

She was wrong. She never imagined it would be this hard.

Not even a week at Hogwarts and she participated in torturing Harper during the Slytherin Initiation. She should've said no, she _knew_ she should've said no.

Given the opportunity to act like the hero she so wanted to be, Mallory took the coward's way out. She only acted when she thought there was no other option, that it was better to go out in a blaze of glory and defiance.

Harper might be the pimple on her arse, and she knew it'd be a superhuman task to ask herself to feel sympathy for him. It'd take superhuman empathy to feel badly for the person who took pleasure in beating the shite out of you, and then take a beating for their sake.

Except that was the whole _point_ of being a _super_hero.

Mum and dad would love her, she knew. They'd love her even though she told everyone Selwyn murdered Rowle, even though she took the coward's way out during the Initiation.

But after this, they'd know she—

Mallory blinked back tears, fighting the lump in her throat.

They'd know their daughter, their daughter with _superpowers_ who they'd always taught to stand up and do the right thing, acted like a coward when it counted.

It hurt. It hurt _a lot._

Mallory picked up the phone anyway, and dialed the number.

"Hello?" mum's voice, slightly distracted.

"Don't say my name, this is really important."

"What? Mal—"

"Don't say my name!" Mallory shouted, interrupting her. "Someone's listening for my name! This isn't a game or a joke. There are _scary bad_ people who are looking for me and they can _tell_ where I am if they hear my name."

There was a moment of silence on mum's end of the line. Granted, Mallory wasn't _sure_ that her name was taboo'd, but there was _always a chance._ And it didn't cost her much to take that extra precaution.

"What? What do you mean? Sweetie, is that you?"

"Yes, it's me, your daughter. The— er, the _special_ people, they have a net over Great Britain that catches words on a list and my name might be on that list right now. It'll note your location and maybe mine, and that'd be really really bad."

Mallory trusted her parents to understand her doublespeak, just like she trusted Danny. Mum was very clever, the sort of clever that got her a doctorate in philosophy. And it was mum and dad who told Mallory that _bad people_ might want her for her powers, and had encouraged her to be careful with them.

They'd understand.

"What's going on?" there was some shuffling, and indistinct muttering in the background, "I'm putting you on speaker. Dad's here."

"Hi dad."

"Hi sweetie. Mum says we're not allowed to use your name?"

"Yeah, don't. Special people have a list of words they track, and they note down the time and location of who said the word. I'm sort of on the run, so that'd be really bad."

"On the _run?_" squawked dad, "what did you do?"

The whole story came out, almost exactly like she told Danny. She told them about the bullying, about the Slytherin Initiation, and about what came after.

"You're coming home, right now." said Dad.

"What about the murderer?"

"It'll be fine. We'll take care of it. Stay in a crowded area until we come get you."

"Okay, and mum? Dad?"

"What, sweetie?"

"I'm sorry about the plan."

"Oh no, sweetie, it's okay. We want you alive. More than anything, we want you safe and happy."

"It's just—"

"You _infernal_ child." hissed the most unwelcome voice on the planet.

The door to the red telephone box snapped open, and Mallory's heart dropped to her stomach. _No,_ no, it wasn't supposed to— No. It wasn't supposed to end like this. Because a part of her hadn't believed this was allowed to happen. She'd gotten so far, all the way muggle London. This _wasn't allowed to happen._ The back of her throat burned, eyes prickling.

"Mum—" Mallory started, and Snape grabbed her by the arm, ripping her away from the phone and safety. She gripped the handle on the door with her other hand, and _screamed._

"Stop! _No!_"

"Silence, you _pathetic_ child."

She distantly heard mum screaming from the phone, "Mallory! What-"

"No!" Mallory shrieked. "I won't go back!"

"Silence! You'll do as your told."

"Help!" Mallory screamed, "I'm being kidnapped! Fire! Child Molester! _Unsafe touches!_"

A number of people on the street were now staring at the odd scene. A child screaming and crying, clinging to the door of a red telephone box, was being yanked by the arm. Except the man doing the dragging was dressed in funny robes with greasy black hair.

Two people started rushing over.

"_Help!_" Mallory screamed toward them.

With two flicks of Snape's wand, the people on the street suddenly became disinterested, and Mallory was silenced.

That didn't stop her.

She kicked at him hard, twisting, mindless of how badly it was hurting her arm. She hit him twice before he managed to petrify her, and then—

And then, he apparated her.

She _screamed_, sucked through a straw wasn't a worthy description. It was by far the _most_ unpleasant form of wizarding travel.

Only a moment later, Mallory was staggering, retching up bile on the green grass. Severus Snape and Mallory Hopkins were standing outside the gates of Hogwarts, right back where she began.

_Fuck_ didn't even begin to cover it.


	17. Aftermath: Albus Dumbledore

A reminder: This fic features unreliable narrators, and a limited POV. Every character is speaking through their own lenses, which color how they see the world.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore: December, 1991

_The Mirror of Erised stood at the center of a secret room below Hogwarts. This was well and good, exactly as it ought to be. Only, in front of that mirror was a wizard who definitely wasn't supposed to be there._

_Quirinus Quirrell admired the stone in his hand with a look of mild amusement._

_It shouldn't be possible, thought Albus. Tom needed the stone, and Quirrell, his servant, needed to give it to him. Yet, this wizard couldn't be Quirrell. He wouldn't know how to break through the subtle and ancient protections he'd used. Quirrell wasn't that powerful. But then who—_

_And then the Defense Professor looked up and saw Albus Dumbledore, "ah, it seems I've sprung a trap."_

_Quirrell's voice had changed. No longer did he hear the wheedling, stuttering Professor Quirrell. This wizard spoke in sharp, precise tones._

_He couldn't be Voldemort. Voldemort spat insults, hurled killing curses and spoke with a sibilant hiss coloring his every word._

_The wizard, who was definitely not Quirinus, sighed. "A pity. I'd hoped for my theft to go unmarked."_

_"You cannot escape." spoke Albus, "your master has led you to your doom."_

_There was a brief flicker of emotion across the Defense Professor's face. Surprise, perhaps, or amusement._

_"It is a pretty trinket, isn't it?" the defense professor glanced up from his examination of the stone, "if you don't mind, I'll skip the battle, just this once."_

_Albus Dumbledore raised his wand to strike, when the defense professor vanished into thin air._

_Impossible._

_There were protections against apparition, port-keys, all kinds of— and then he realized._

_The defense professor's other hand hadn't been on his wand, it'd been in his pocket. No doubt, the wizard had been spinning the glass of a time-turner. He hadn't vanished, he'd gone back in time._

* * *

Present Day:

Albus Dumbledore cast a firm _quietus_, to avoid anyone overhearing them.

Pomona was still scolding him.

She started on him the moment they left the Auror's office, face almost purple with fury. Her hands were clenched into tight fists.

The hallway was cooling under the dim light of the late afternoon. A tapestry depicting a seventh century mermaid greeting wizard adventurers was vacant. Their inhabitants fled at the commotion.

Albus felt weary.

"I don't _understand_ it, Albus," Pomona said, voice low and tight.

"What you did was _reckless,_" Albus Dumbledore's hand tightened on his wand. He couldn't have this, not now, not when everything was so close to falling apart.

_Damn_ those meddling ghosts!

"If half of what that child says is true, you _should_ be sacked. I mean it. I don't understand how you can—"

"You have no sense of _scale_, Pomona!" He struggled to keep his voice lowered.

"That child—"

"Pomona, you must _listen,_" he took a breath, "Voldemort has risen. He's using the Philosopher's Stone. I made a _grave mistake_, and once again we're on the brink of war. You must understand, if he gains a foothold in Hogwarts, the Dark Forces will win. Many students will die."

"I've heard," her tone was dry, "yet, that doesn't excuse neglecting the protections on the castle. It doesn't excuse allowing Snape to ignore bullies, either. If you won't do it, assign someone else the responsibility, but don't plain ignore it."

Dumbledore sighed. He needed to get this through to her, explain before she did something regrettable. Pomona Sprout wasn't a _powerful_ witch, but every professor at Hogwarts knew his skill in the mind magics. She was smart, and she cared a great deal about her students. If she cared that much, the ever-prepared and practical Professor Sprout would've taken precautions.

She'd have a contingency to handle obliviation, depending on how long ago she'd heard from the ghosts. If he chose to obliviate her and tripped her contingency, she'd no doubt go directly to the Head of the Auror Department.

The Malfoys, Gamps, Selwyns, and a number of other families were just _waiting_ for a misstep like that. He wouldn't give them the rope with which to hang himself.

This meant he needed to get through to her. And if all else failed, he'd use legilimency and _persuade_ her to give up this cause. She likely wouldn't have thought of _that._ It was regrettable, but with the safety of the Wizarding World at stake, Albus would do what he must.

"The protections the ghosts spoke of are ancient, and haven't been renewed since Black was Headmaster of Hogwarts," said Albus, pausing for effect. "They require, regrettably, the sacrifice of human life."

Sprout blinked, taken aback.

Good, he needed her off-balance.

"It's possible that the loss of those protections had a role in the young Miss Rowle's death," Albus continued, "but we cannot be sure."

Unless the _Cracklewood Carver_ was some sort of entity from _Beyond the Veil._ This was exactly why they were bringing the formidable Professor Blackthorn to investigate.

The first clue was the fire.

Each time the Carver struck, one child would be found mangled and posed, while two _other_ children at the corpse's feet were burnt to cinders.

Miss Hopkins lit the fire.

Miss Hopkins lit the fire that ostensibly would've taken her own life. It was unlikely that each time the Carver struck, the children _independently_ thought to light fires.

Up until now, the Aurors and Dumbledore had always assumed the _Carver_ lit the fires. That may still be the case, but Albus was now forced to consider another possibility.

They'd been manipulated. Some foul force swayed their minds, bade those children to light the flames that killed them.

It was mere speculation, but Albus doubted this was a targeted attack against the students. He believed this was the work of something summoned from Beyond the Veil, and that those three students were merely convenient targets.

That two of those three students were tactically important threw doubt on that theory, yet—

Yet, there was the ritual nature, to consider. Young Miss Rowle's heart had been replaced by an effigy of twigs and mud. It might symbolize a stolen heart, a stolen soul.

Transformation.

A girl turned to wood, flesh turned to cinder.

It pointed to _old_ and _forbidden_ magics. Necromancy.

The forest had been blanketed in frost. Trees hundreds of years old were rotting from the inside out. Not one living thing had returned.

Whatever was summoned there that night was _powerful_. Rocks eroded to fine grit. The water was absorbed into organic matter, bloating and starting a chain reaction. The air was rank with putrefaction.

Harper and Hopkins were likewise _touched_ by the corruption, the rot. The boy's mind carried more damage than the girl's. He suspected some combination of potions and family magics accounted for the difference.

The signs and portents were clear. Yet the question remained, who summoned it? A creature such as that couldn't cross over unless _invited._

Rowle's enemies weren't that foolish. Killing their daughter would only invoke ruin upon the murderer. Harper's family didn't have the sort of enemies that'd attack using necromancy. And Hopkins wasn't even on the game board.

If someone wished to kill the muggleborn in Slytherin, they wouldn't have taken Miss Rowle or young Harper with her. And if someone thought Hopkins wasnt't a muggleborn, they wouldn't have attempted to kill her in the first place.

There was another portent of Necromancy, one more subtle than the last. The three children were the first to be punished by the Mistress of Ceremonies, that night.

Such things carried weight. To sacrifice the young was to sacrifice potential. The children suffered through pain, in a quasi-ritualistic bonding ceremony. To _break_ it, sacrifice the reconciliation which would have no doubt followed the punishment, meant that the students went through their trial for nothing.

Suffering, decay, rot, transformation, frost and fire.

Yes, the signs and portents were clear. This was the act of the Cracklewood Carver, the original monster. The one who summoned it twice before summoned it a third time, only for the ritual to be broken.

Albus Dumbledore thought he might solve this mystery, given time. But the Rowles, Malfoys, and Alastor Moody wanted to bring a _necromancer_ to the school.

Professor Corvinus Blackthorn.

In Albus Dumbledore's opinion, this was a mistake.

The Professor studied the Dark Forces, Necromancy, making pacts with entities that wished for the destruction of all life. It was a testament to how much power Albus Dumbledore had lost, that the wizard was allowed to step foot in Hogwarts.

He'd read some of Blackthorn's papers, after Alastor suggested bringing the man to Hogwarts.

Great Britain was _incredibly_ lucky Blackthorn turned down Tom Riddle's offers. For surely, Tom Riddle would've coveted such power in his ranks. He imagined, instead of facing armies of inferi, battling Powers so great they could swallow a star.

He still remembered stories of a powerful necromancer in Siber, collapsing an area the size of the city of London into the White Sea. Towns were still cordoned off, trapped in permanent time-loops where their inhabitants were forced to relive their deaths over and over. No, that sort of Wizardry _should not_ come to Hogwarts.

The Ancient Families were _tame_ compared to him.

Which brought him back to Pomona Sprout. He didn't have _time_ to deal with her threats. He just didn't.

Corvinus Blackthorn was coming to Hogwarts, a summoned entity from Beyond the Veil was loose in the Forbidden Forest, and Voldemort was risen.

Albus looked Pomona in the eye. "Against Voldemort, we almost lost. If it weren't for Harry Potter, Wizarding Britain would've fallen. This time, we face him weakened. I _cannot_ fight a war on two fronts, Pomona. You must understand the seriousness of what you've done. Today, you would've sacrificed the war to save one child. If the Malfoy's obtain that leverage, they'll use it to destroy us."

"I wouldn't have—" Pomona gaped, "I meant to get your _attention._ I wouldn't have—"

She was lying. He read her mind and felt a great deal of guilt and terror. In the moment, she _would_ have told Narcissa Malfoy that Albus Dumbledore neglected the protections on the school, all to save one child.

And if she had, Albus Dumbledore would've lost his position as Headmaster of Hogwarts. The news would've spread that he was at least partly responsible for young Miss Rowle's death, and _Malfoy would've capitalized on it._

His allies would've deserted him, and with them went the money to fund the Order of the Phoenix.

Voldemort would've won, all because Pomona Sprout couldn't stand the suffering of one child. It was almost ironic.

"Yet you thought to endanger the lives of every student in this school, to earn a temporary reprieve for _one child._"

"I didn't _know,_ Albus. I'm certainly not going to say anything, now. And don't— don't distract me from my point, here. You need to reign in those bullies, keep—"

"It matters not," the old wizard stared down at Pomona, exhausted, "it is far worse than you realize. Now Narcissa Malfoy knows _you_ have leverage over me, and she'll attempt to discover what you're hiding, and why."

"The Malfoys can't do a thing while I'm here," scoffed Pomona, "the castle would alert you if Lucius Malfoy came anywhere near my office."

"Indeed," Albus nodded, "but taking the path of caution is often wiser than the riskier slope."

"Albus," She looked rather cross, now. "You need to _handle_ this. I don't want to hear about wiser paths and whatever else. I want to hear what you're going to do to protect our students."

And again, Pomona was proving that she couldn't see the big picture.

"All I can say, Pomona, is that we're in control of the situation. So long as the students remain inside the castle, there's no danger."

Pomona let out an annoyed huff, "then _tell_ the girl that, for Merlin's sake. And the boy— Harper— they're worried sick. Half of the school is braced for another attack."

He wished to tell Pomona, and even the students, that Blackthorn was coming to the school. It would assuage their fears. Yet, no one outside of Moody, the Board of Governors, and a handful of Aurors knew he was coming. Already, too many people knew. It could spell danger, if their opponent were to learn that a famed necromancer was investigating the case.

Pomona had already proved herself to have poor judgment. And the children were just that, children.

"No," Albus shook his head, "I regret to say that the children might not recognize the need to keep these protections secret."

Pomona Sprout chewed on her lip, thinking, "and what will you do about those bullies? The ones heckling poor Miss Hopkins."

The unfortunate truth was, there was little Albus could do. If Voldemort had not chosen _this_ year to rise, he'd have the capital to pressure those families into reigning in their children. As of now, if he punished those young Slytherins, they'd complain to their parents.

Their parents likely already knew a _vile mudblood_ had somehow managed to enter Slytherin. The fanatics among them might threaten to try something, but few would follow through. They had more important things to deal with than a muggleborn first year in Slytherin.

Yet, if their precious children were forced to attend detention due to that muggleborn, they'd be enraged. The parents would claim that Hopkins was lying to the professors. Then they'd say that Albus was only taking her side because of politics.

The more Albus fought them, the further they'd escalate. In the end, they'd be before the Wizengamot.

And everyone knew the Wizengamot was made up of purebloods, and wizards who maintained pureblood Patrons. The Ancient and Noble Houses would claim slander. Business deals fell through due to false accusations of bigotry. A line of witnesses out the door, all paid off, would claim how Roderick Selwyn was the sweetest child they'd ever known. No Selwyn had ever espoused blood purist views, they'd say.

It would be a farce, and the Hopkins family would be ruined.

Without Voldemort, he'd be able to fight on the girl's behalf, or find the girl a Patron to fight for her. But now? Now, he could not. He was already asking too much of the Bones. All his favors were cashed in.

The girl and her hapless muggle parents would face the combined wrath of the Ancient and Noble Houses, and lose everything. She'd end up impoverished, expelled from Hogwarts, and once Voldemort's influence grew—

Well, his followers would kill her _and_ her muggle parents.

At most, he could touch a few of her classmates' minds and _will_ them to lose interest in her. But he'd have to be careful, lest he damage something. Children's minds were delicate, and there were lasting effects to mind magic. Changing their minds might do more harm than good.

That also didn't solve the issue of Selwyn, Avery, and a number of upper-year Slytherins who knew Occlumency. He'd be unable to touch their minds without their parents learning of it.

The main instigators wouldn't be hindered, at all.

Telling the Aurors about their parents' lawbreaking was pointless, as their parents would simply pay them off. That was what it meant, to be an Ancient and Noble House in Magical Britain.

But Pomona didn't care about any of that. She saw a child in need, and failed to see the long-term consequences of her actions. She couldn't see the size of the game-board, and thus was blind.

"I'll speak to Severus," lied Albus, "he has more sway over them than I."

At that, he touched her mind. It wouldn't do to _obliviate_ her. He couldn't trust that she'd cleverly hidden her countermeasures. Hufflepuffs were much like Hopkins in that they asked for help when they needed it.

In other words, he had to be subtle.

She'd already developed some _caution_ about who she might speak to about the protection spells. But she wasn't truly swayed from her path. Should Albus fail to fix the situation between the first years, she _still_ intended to use her leverage.

Regrettable. Then, there was only one thing he could do. Her fear he strengthened to paranoia. Pomona would fear telling anyone, as it would put her students in grave danger.

The concern over Miss Hopkins he dulled, weaving in the thought that _Severus would handle it._ When that wasn't enough, he added a second thought to the refrain: _Severus was a halfblood, himself. He wouldn't let this go on._

Those thoughts he dug into her brain, like wearing grooves in a dirt road by going over and over it. Pomona would feel concern for Mallory, and that would trigger her to feel _Snape would handle it, he's a half blood and wouldn't let this go on,_ coupled by a feeling of reassurance.

Of course, this wasn't foolproof. Hopkins would no doubt come to Pomona again, now that she knew she'd found an ally amongst the faculty. When she did, Pomona would overcome the compulsion.

There was only so much he could change before it became _rather obvious_ something was wrong. He could imagine Pomona, sitting at her desk unable to say or think anything besides "_Severus will handle it, he was a half blood."_

The mind arts had their limits, and Albus was mindful of them.

This meant he needed to give Pomona a reason to doubt Underwood, Hopkins, and her other friends, the next time they demanded she take action against the Slytherins.

Albus called up the memories of Underwood in Pomona's office, and of her observations.

Underwood, it seemed, was a stout and noble young lad. The details were blurred — Pomona's memory wasn't augmented by potions, — so the words and minutiae were ever-shifting, inconsistent.

It was fortunate, though. If Pomona used Wit-Sharpening potion, his compulsions and triggers wouldn't stick. She'd revert back to normal in no time at all.

As it stood, Pomona's mind would accept his alterations semi-permanently. It'd take a strong outside force to break it.

Underwood, in her mind, shared his story with her.

Hopkins had planned to start a riot to distract the Aurors and escape Hogwarts.

That plot was, unfortunately, unable to break the top ten most insane things he'd discovered students attempting. On that list was _committing murder with the fabled monster of Slytherin_ and _attempted murder by luring a student into a werewolf's path,_ so this was no surprise.

It was troubling, though. Hopkins was a first year. Students usually didn't begin to plot potentially fatal catastrophes until their third year. He was going to have to look into this, wasn't he?

Pomona Sprout stood in front of Albus Dumbledore, mouth agape, mind under his sway.

In her mind, Hopkins was a precocious little Slytherin, with an audacious plan the girl would've never followed through on. She believed _Underwood_ believed Hopkins would start a riot. But she didn't believe _Hopkins_ would do it.

Surely, the girl would lose her nerve. Pomona Sprout was naive and optimistic. A decade of teaching did nothing to dent her belief in her students. It was heartening to see, but inconvenient.

Her feelings with regards to Hopkins' actions were mild amusement, fondness, and exasperation.

That wasn't much to work with, really. What she found amusing in Hopkins, she found amusing in other students, as well. He'd have to alter her overall sense of humor if he wanted her to find Hopkins tiresome.

Instead, Albus came up with a different idea. It'd be finicky and delicate work, but he could do it. He drew up her memories of Farley, and several other students Albus knew to be troublesome.

Pomona didn't see Farley's deceptions. Instead, he saw a dedicated if slightly domineering seventh year.

That wouldn't work.

She found the Weasley Twins funny, though she pretended to be stern and disapproving around them.

No luck there, either.

Peregrine Derrick and _his_ gang of troublemakers were also regarded with fondness.

_Really?_

Roderick Selwyn, however, disturbed her. This was _not_ his first choice. Selwyn was living up to his family name. They, like other Ancient Families, sacrificed to Dark Forces. _What_ they sacrificed was up for debate— they closely guarded their secrets. However, judging by the _cruelty_ members of the Selwyn family engaged in, he suspected they sacrificed pieces of their souls.

He wanted Pomona to see Hopkins as _troublesome_, not psychopathic.

He hesitated.

Albus Dumbledore hesitated, and then undid the connection. No, this was too much. For the same reason he couldn't leave a cursed infant to die, for the same reason he didn't kill Harry Potter the moment he recognized the piece of Tom Riddle's soul latched onto him— he wouldn't have Pomona fear Hopkins.

Later tonight, he'd compel Hopkins to go to Severus for help, instead of Pomona. It would be dangerous, but less damaging than having Sprout believe Hopkins to be evil. And Hopkins could keep her professor, who'd dote on her in class and give her an extra biscuit during study hall.

But Hopkins would never ask Pomona for help with bullies again, averting disaster.

With that, he released Pomona with the lightest touch of a confundus, and sent her on her way.

* * *

There was a _problem_.

Albus Dumbledore, in the privacy of his office, was interrupted by a fuming Severus Snape.

In the hour it took to read through a particularly vile piece of legislation proposed by the Selwyn family, a _panic_ started in the Ravenclaw common room. Said panic spread throughout the school, with frantic students screaming bloody murder.

Apparently, the _Cracklewood Carver_ was loose in Hogwarts.

It didn't take a genius to figure out who was behind this fiasco, and Albus was, indeed, a genius.

Nymphadora Tonks, for her part, looked thoroughly embarrassed.

A Black by blood, but Ted Tonks' contribution must've mellowed out the madness that dogged their line.

"And where are the young Mr Harper and Miss Hopkins, now?" asked Albus, raising one bushy brow.

Tonks pointed to the fire, "I took them through the floo. They were concerned— well, they acted— are you _sure_ they're behind it?"

Hopkins contrived somehow to communicate with her friends, who started the panic. Then they used the confusion to convince Miss Tonks to take them through the floo, out of Hogwarts.

Albus nodded, "if you please, find Messrs Underwood, Creevey, and Miss Jennings on that map of yours? And Severus, fetch Miss Hopkins and Mr Harper."

Snape nodded, and went through the fire.

* * *

Mallory Hopkins was _not_ behind the panic, at least not intentionally. It seemed that Hopkins was rather mistrusting, and thought Pomona was a spy for the Carver.

Seated in the Auror's office across from three recalcitrant eleven year olds, Albus Dumbledore was trying hard not to laugh.

"We have to save her!" insisted Colin Creevey, "we're all in danger."

"I assure you, Mr Creevey, that you're safe within Hogwart's walls."

The young Mr Underwood was abashed, likely feeling foolish for his mistake. His friend, Miss Jennings, however, was not at all repentant.

"That's not true at all," Kit Jennings said, stubborn. "someone could be tricked or blackmailed, and there was a whole bunch of other stuff, too!"

"Professor Sprout is under the bad guy's mind-control!" interjected Creevey.

"Professor Sprout might be secretly begging for help in her mind," whispered Jennings, "wishing for _all her heart_ that someone would stop her from hurting Mallory, and we're fulfilling that wish!"

Albus Dumbledore looked into the minds of the three muggleborns, who wouldn't know occlumency and didn't have parents who'd teach them how to detect the use of mind magics.

In Mr Creevey's eyes he saw only grim determination and fear for his friend.

Underwood was humiliated, torn between feeling deceived and guilty for turning in Miss Hopkins.

Jennings was noting— _fractal patterns_ on his robes. Counting them. Albus paused for a moment— was the girl practicing some form of proto-occlumency? No. She just really enjoyed arithmency, and was bored of the conversation. It seemed her mind defaulted to counting interesting things.

Well, then.

"Miss Hopkins is safe here, however she's gone missing—"

"Yes!" Jennings jumped out of her seat, whooping. "We did it!"

Creevey slumped in his seat, letting out a sigh of relief. Underwood perked up from his self-flagellation.

Albus felt some amount of pity for his professors. For the next seven years they'd be dealing with this lot.

"Can you tell me where she's gone?" Albus asked.

The stubborn silence he received as a response didn't surprise him. However, they didn't know he knew the mind arts.

It was— how did muggles say it? Like trying not to think about pink elephants.

Colin Creevey's thoughts were on Dufftown, phone-calls to her parents, and an eventual bus home.

Felix Underwood's were of home and parents.

Kit Jennings was imagining Hopkins— sneaking down an alley in some sort of costume? He examined the thought. Hopkins wanted to go home, but she never could because she ran out of money. Somehow, this led to her becoming a muggle named James Bond.

Quite the imaginative girl, that one. All three shared a similar theme: Hopkins was running away, going home to her muggle parents.

"We aren't going to tell you anything," Creevey elaborated. The silence must've got to him.

Jennings piped in, "you can tack my toes to the floor and I still wouldn't talk!"

Underwood said nothing, preferring to remain silent in solidarity with his friends.

"You can pressure us all you like!" said Creevey.

Albus was amused, and doing his best not to show it. _Pressure?_ Awkward silences were hardly pressure, though he was curious how long it would take them to crack.

Jennings made a face like she was constipated, and blurted, "okay, I give up."

"Don't!" yelled Creevey, eyes wide and frantic.

"She ran away to Antarctica to live with the Eskimos." Jennings slumped in her seat, a couple fat crocodile tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

"What?" Creevey looked befuddled.

At that, Underwood dropped his head into his hands and started giggling. So much for repentance.

Jennings smacked his shoulder, "you aren't helpful at all!"

"Ooh," said Creevey, eyes widening as he caught on, "you lied to protect her." Then he realized his mistake in pointing that out, and doubled down to correct it, "Mallory _actually_ went to— er— to India. So, er— she's safe." Creevey smiled as though he were trying his best to appear genuine, but failed miserably.

"Eskimos live in Alaska, not Antarctica." Underwood joined in.

"_How_ is that helpful?" Jennings glared at Underwood, imperious and dismissive.

"Because that means she went to Alaska!" said Creevey.

At that, a ruckus outside the door distracted them.

It seemed Severus was back, with their missing students.

"Ow ow ow!" screeched a familiar voice, "get your paws off me you stupid shitstained dickmuncher!"

Underwood's jaw dropped, while Creevey looked as though someone just sucker-punched him.

Severus blasted through the door, dragging an irate Miss Hopkins by the collar of her muggle shirt. The girl had discarded her witch's robes for muggle wear. Her robes were wrapped around her waist in a messy knot.

Face red, tear tracks and snot smeared across her face, Miss Hopkins made a ridiculous sight.

Kingsley followed them in, Tonks bringing in the rear. Her hair was a mousy brown instead of her usual exuberant bubblegum-pink, no doubt embarrassed. She'd been outwitted by five first years, after all.

They piled into the small office room, shuffling around awkwardly, avoiding the struggling first year.

"Twatface, _get off me._" Hopkins shrugged off Severus' hand, adjusting her muggle shirt.

He was putting the look on Severus' face right now into a penseive and bottling it.

"Albus," said Kingsley, "we might have a problem. Severus says the girl was talking to muggles over a fellyton—"

"Her parents," Severus cut in, "it's a two-way connection, not a radio. It communicates information between two individuals, much like your mirrors."

"I see." Albus nodded, "then it's of no concern."

Albus looked into Severus' eyes, and projected a general question.

Snape responded in kind, _Hopkins told her parents about the Carver, from what I saw, she told them everything._

That was troubling. He supposed they were going to have to obliviate them. At the least, a couple cheering charms and some legilimency should have them out of his beard. Merlin knew he didn't need _muggles_ raising a fuss. They could hardly understand _wizarding_ matters, and would only get in the way.

_Modify their memories, or have the Obliviators do it,_ he told Severus.

"Might other muggles listen in?" asked Kingsley.

"I doubt it," Severus rolled his eyes.

"No," Albus said, "there's no danger to the Statute, here."

He turned to Miss Hopkins, who's gaze was flicking around the room like she might bolt at any moment.

"Miss Hopkins," Albus spoke, his voice grave and low, "I hear you've had quite an adventure. According to your young compatriots, here, you've been to Alaska, Antartica, and— ah, India."

Hopkins glared at him, and he supposed she meant to be threatening. The girl flicked her eyes between Albus and her friends, then rolled her eyes.

"You lot are _awful_ liars," the girl shook her head.

"Listen here, young lady," broke in Kingsley, "this isn't some sort of joke. You interfered with an active investigation, wasted time and resour—"

"Yes, Kingsley, thank you. I believe you have other matters to attend to?"

There as a beat of silence, where Kingsley Shacklebolt gave Albus Dumbledore an irate glare, but then the man turned tail and left the room.

"Miss Tonks," Albus said, as the trainee Auror made to leave after him, "if you might stay? Thank you."

Tonks met Kingsley's gaze, halfway out the door. He nodded, and she backed through the door again, standing against the wall.

Good. He'd need her, after this. _Someone_ had to keep an eye on the children, and he didn't think she'd fall for the same trick twice.

Albus Dumbledore turned to the child, "did you know, Miss Hopkins, that Professor Sprout was not under the employ of any murderers, when you told Mr Underwood here that she intended to kill you?"

He made eye contact with her, touching her mind.

"I want to go home." Hopkins ignored his question.

She _had_ thought Pomona planned to kill her. Once she realized her mistake, she hadn't considered that Felix might be able to start the panic without her help.

"Did you consider the implications of causing a panic?" Albus asked.

"I want to go _home._" Hopkins insisted.

She hadn't, and assumed everyone would be escorted out to the field.

Mistrusting and reckless, but not malicious.

Albus turned to Severus, who was scowling by the door. He nudged at his mind, an open question.

Severus sent back an image of Hopkins howling in the street, accusing Severus of being a pedophile. What.

"Have you found Mr Harper?" he asked, instead.

"No," Severus scowled, "Kingsley sent a team of Aurors out to find the boy. It wouldn't surprise me if Miss Hopkins _killed_ him through sheer stupidity."

"Hah," Hopkins barked, "well, at least when the murderer comes around there'll be one less student for him to kill. That's more'n _you've_ done."

"We didn't give you up, I swear. Not even Felix said anything." Creevey was looking at Hopkins, sorrowful and defeated.

Underwood's protest was drowned out by the exuberant Miss Jennings, "I even said I'd stand thumbtacks through my toes and not say a word!"

"Thumbtacks go through your thumbs not your toes," groaned Underwood, "and you said _tacks_, not _thumb—_"

Jennings took that moment to cover Underwood's mouth with her hand.

"Why are you lot here, anyway?" asked Hopkins. She made an effort to look confused. It was belated, especially since he'd seen that she knew _exactly_ why her friends were here.

"I believe you know that already, Miss Hopkins." Albus fixed her with piercing stare.

Dumbledore read her mind. She was currently debating whether a declaration of _I don't know anything!_ would make her friends angry, or keep them out of trouble. It all depended on whether or not _that old fart_ realized who was behind the riot.

The girl settled on glaring at him silently, with that constipated-trying-to-look-intimidating face.

"I know these three were behind the panic, Miss Hopkins." Albus made it easier for her.

Hopkins looked at her friends expectantly, and they all nodded glumly.

Her face was blank for a moment, and she turned away from his gaze. What was she—

Hopkins perked up, chirping, "that was _wicked!_ I can't believe you _started a riot_ for me! Felix, you're a horrid traitor but I forgive you because you threw a riot! _For me!_"

The exuberance of children. Merlin save him.

"You four are in more trouble than you can imagine," hissed Severus, livid from his corner.

Hopkins spun around, "_four?_ No, they've nothing to do with it. You see, I tricked them. I told Felix I was planning a riot, and how to start a riot— that was all on purpose. I tricked him into believing Professor Sprout was trying to kill me so he'd convince them to start a riot. It was all part of my diab— er— diabic? No. _Devilish_ super-secret clever plot. I would've gotten away with it too, if it weren't for you meddling er— adults."

If Albus hadn't known she was lying from reading her mind a minute ago, Creevey bursting into giggles and Underwood groaning into his palm would've given it away.

Creevey was imagining a moving drawing— a cartoon— with a talking dog. A villain monologued, "I would've gotten away with it too, if it weren't for you meddling kids!"

Some sort of muggle joke? Irrelevant.

Severus seethed, "this isn't amusing. You've disrupted the Aurors, ran away from government officials, and you three started a _panic._"

"No, that was me. That was all me, they were just the," Hopkins waved her hand in a vague circle, "the victims."

"We're all victims of your sheer stupidity."

"Clearly I'm too stupid to keep my wand." the girl said, cheeky, "you should expel me."

And now this was escalating into a pointless argument. Severus was childish, and had never learnt how to handle petty insults with levity. His presence would only make the situation worse.

Albus caught Severus' eye. _Go._ It was an order, not a suggestion.

"You will discuss that with the headmaster," hissed Severus, before spinning around and exiting the room in a huff.

Albus eyed Hopkins. This wasn't the first time she'd tried to take the blame for her friends. The incidents were at the top of her memory— after the broom incident, then again in a hallway with Severus, and again, now.

Multiple times, with different people, and not always where her friends could hear. Not affected, then, not calculated. The emotions surrounding those actions were a sense of responsibility for them and protectiveness.

Right now, though, she was contemplating how she wanted her friends to like her. A few more detentions, in her mind, were worth the gesture.

Oh. Then it _was_ calculated, but not for poor reasons. She wanted her friends to stay out of trouble, wished to protect them. She feared they'd stop wanting her company, should they attract too much punishment due to her suggestions.

"Do you know where Mr Harper went, Miss Hopkins?"

"If I did, I'd never tell you."

The two split up. He gave her the idea of pretending to be the mastermind behind it all.

"Mr Harper could be in danger."

"He was in danger at Hogwarts," scoffed Hopkins, "at least now he's out of this death trap. Really, the staircases belong in an _Indiana Jones_ movie."

Harper intended to go home, and she was glad he'd be safe.

Reckless, childish, but again, not malicious.

_It was possible, it was just possible—_

Hopkins crossed her arms across her chest, "are you going to expel me now? I ought to be expelled, after I masterminded this whole thing and all that."

"Mallory the Mastermind!" chirped Jennings, "it has a ring to it."

"You're _not_ the mastermind behind any great plot, Miss Hopkins," Albus sighed, "in fact, I know you had no intention of starting a panic after you spoke to Professor Sprout. At some point, you recognized that she was, indeed, planning to help you. Yet, you only realized this after you warned Mr Underwood to run."

Hopkins blinked, shocked. Her thoughts were mostly composed of expletives.

"No, I'm plotting to cause a mass panic and create all kinds of trouble, _especially_ for the Aurors."

In her head, she chanted _expel me! expel me! expel me!_

"In fact, when believing yourself to be in mortal peril, you chose to warn the young Mr Underwood before considering yourself."

That was a stretch, but if Hopkins were to remain at Hogwarts— Well, it wouldn't do to sabotage her choice to be Good by allowing her friend to believe she tricked him.

Friends in Hufflepuff and Gryffindor would be good for the Slytherin girl.

Hopkins narrowed her eyes, "that's a load of rubbish and you know it." _Expel me, you old sack of arse._

"One point to Slytherin, for showing outstanding loyalty." Albus said, with some cheer.

Positive reinforcement, wasn't that what the muggle psychology books called it?

_"What?"_ shrieked Hopkins, "are you _daft?_"

"One point to Hufflepuff, for mending bridges and defending your friend, even when it's difficult." He looked Underwood in the eyes.

"And another point to Hufflepuff for the creative use of flour, various preserves, and …acting skills." Albus said, while viewing Jenning's memory of pretending to be dying from fake lacerations.

The room was now completely silent as the four friends were giving each other wide and sort of panicked looks.

_What's he doing?_ and _Is this for real?_

"And Mr Creevey, One point to Gryffindor for bravery and chivalry."

The young Creevey puffed like a balloon.

There was a moment of silence, and Albus let the anticipation build.

"Of course, there will be punishments." said Albus, "all four of you were out of bounds during an emergency. Furthermore, each of you lied to your professors, and to me."

"I hold that they're innocent." said Hopkins, sounding for the first time since Severus brought her here, panicked.

"_You,_ Miss Hopkins, left school grounds without permission. And when a professor was charged to retrieve you, you fought him and used foul language."

"_Expel me._ It's all my fault."

"And you, Miss Jennings, Messrs Creevey and Underwood, misused school property." He stared them down, "and while the school has no _specific_ policy against starting a panic, I should deem it common sense that you ought not do so. Did any of you think that your classmates might get hurt?"

Mr. Underwood, in fact, had. But when he believed that Hopkins was _right_, and that the professors really were bewitched, he decided that inaction was the same as killing Miss Hopkins, himself.

Now, the boy was kicking himself for believing her, though that the girl had truly believed it _did_ lessen the sting.

"Each of you have earned yourselves two weeks of detention for being out of bounds." It'd typically be a weekend or day of detention, but they'd chosen to carry out their venture while the school was occupied by _Aurors._

"Furthermore, I expect a foot-long essay from each of you on why what you did was so dangerous. Miss Jennings, and Messrs Creevey and Underwood, you three have _another_ week of detention for lying to your professors. Needless to say, such behavior isn't tolerated at Hogwarts. Your friend was in very real danger, and you refused to tell anyone where she was going."

"Miss Hopkins, you have a _month_ of detention for leaving school grounds without permission. I'm adding an additional weekend to that, in the hopes it'll curb your use of foul language. That is not the behavior befitting a young witch. You must realize you're lucky you aren't suspended or worse. You interfered with an active investigation, and I've no doubt that were Auror Moody here, he'd suggest you have your wand snapped immediately. There are _serious consequences_ to your actions. You must realize this, before you end up hurting yourself or others."

His proclamations were met with stunned, horrified silence.

"After class, all four of you are to go straight to your dorms, indefinitely. Once there, I expect you'll _stay_ there until you're escorted to dinner by a prefect. In Miss Hopkins case, The trainee Auror Tonks will be following you. Miss Tonks?"

"Yes, sir." Tonks saluted.

"And Miss Hopkins? You are lucky, indeed. Auror Kingsley, the wizard you tricked, suggested that you endangered the Statute of Secrecy, with your actions here today. That is a _serious_ offense."

Hopkins, who'd been making pleading faces at her friends, dropped her gaze to the floor, swallowing thickly.

"I'm also writing letters home to your parents, informing them of your behavior."

That finally got a reaction from them.

Jennings head hit the desk with a solid thunk, and Underwood was wishing he could shrivel up and die. Creevey simply felt mortified.

That should keep them busy enough, until the Aurors and Professor Blackthorn solved the case. He couldn't have four nosy first years, all of whom weren't especially cautious or sensible, mucking up the investigation.

He amended himself, giving them one boon, "though, if you wish, your prefects are welcome to take you to the library to study together."

And they would have detention together. He didn't _actually_ want to separate the youngsters. From what he could tell, Mr Underwood would benefit much from Mr Creevey's warmth. And Miss Hopkins could benefit from their kindness. More cold, calculating Slytherins was _not_ what a young witch needed, if she were to be Good.

"Can I be expelled instead?" asked Hopkins, a strange note of hope in her tone.

"No, Miss Hopkins, you're not expelled."

There was a beat, where Mallory considered something and wasn't looking him in the eye.

Then—

"_Incendio!_" shouted Hopkins, pointing her wand straight at him. The spell, of course, fizzled out on his jinx-repellent robes.

The girl scowled, "_incendio!"_

Again, it didn't work. He was curious if she'd keep trying, or pick something else to set afire.

"_Incendio!_" this time she aimed at his face. One of several amulets diverted and absorbed the spell.

Jennings, from behind them, cackled with glee.

Hopkins switched her target to Jennings, who yelped, "Whoa, no—" and grabbed Underwood, shoving him in front of her like a human shield.

"What are you _doing?_" shrieked Underwood.

"Enough, Miss Hopkins." said Albus, wandlessly summoning away the girl's wand before she managed _actually_ light someone on fire.

"I tried to light you on fire _and_ I threatened a student. Will you expel me now?" her tone was cold and controlled.

Albus poked at her mind, irritated. _What_ was all this about?

She wanted to be expelled because she thought at home, she'd be safe from whomever wanted to kill her. She believed she was the real target of the murderer, and that it was someone _pretending_ to be the Cracklewood Carver in order to trick the Aurors.

Godric save him from Slytherins.

"Miss Hopkins, as you have recently suffered from a severe trauma, you're not being expelled for your actions. However, if you continue to light people afire, cause panics, and run away, you will, indeed, be expelled." Albus paused, lowering his tone conspiratorially, "Now, you must all four of you keep this a secret, but we believe the culprit will be captured soon. Until then, Trainee Tonks will accompany you and Mr Harper wherever you go."

Hopkins stared at him for a moment, before nodding, "okay, that's a relief."

She deduced that he was lying to pacify her, and was going to try to escape again.

Godric _save him from Slytherins._ He was going to have to speak with her privately, legilimize her, _something._

Severus knocked on the door, walking in. "Mr Harper took the floo home to his parents," Severus met his eyes, _they're irate, in your office. They want to speak with you._

"Excellent," said Albus, "is young Mr Harper here?"

"No, his parents elected to keep him home."

"Smart people," Hopkins quipped, "I like them."

"Ah, but young Mr Harper is going to miss out on all kinds of adventures with his friends," Albus admonished the peanut gallery, "and friends bring strength in trying times."

"I'd prefer to be alive, thanks."

"Detention!" hissed Severus.

Albus caught Severus' eye, _I gave her one point to Slytherin,_ —_incoherent rage_— _and two months of detention._ Severus' rage boiled.

Immature, petty man.

"Miss Hopkins, stay behind. The rest of you, you're dismissed." Albus said, "Miss Tonks, you may wait outside until we're done. Miss Hopkins' friends may wait outside as well, if they wish. They can accompany her afterwards to the Hospital Wing. I believe we've underestimated the effects of the last few days on Miss Hopkins."

* * *

Miss Hopkins sat across from him, sullen.

Here was a conundrum. Not the first year, herself, no. The situation was troublesome, though.

The problem with altering the way a child thought was complicated. He'd make a change, and new thoughts would _grow out of_ that thought. In other words, it'd have a long-lasting impact.

Changing Miss Hopkins' mind about running away from Hogwarts meant changing a fundamental part of her personality. She'd take her decision to _not_ run away, and base new decisions on it. It also meant that from that one change, a number of _other_ changes would spring.

Her impulse to run was governed by her will to succeed, her desire to protect herself. Already an impulsive child, she might become _more_ reckless if he altered it. She might lose her will to become a better witch, even.

Adults weren't so fragile.

Connections already _existed_ in an adult's mind. In a child's, all those connections were just starting to form. In other words, if he did this, he'd be making a large-scale, permanent alteration to her mind, with unknown consequences in the future.

There were only so many times he could modify someone's mind, before something went wrong. It wasn't something he'd do lightly, and he _needed_ to be careful. He'd make it the smallest possible change with the least impact. He didn't want to take away a child's freedom of choice.

"Miss Hopkins, I'm aware that you've been through a terrible ordeal." he spoke, meeting her eyes.

Hopkins didn't respond. In the brief glimpse he caught of her mind, she had already dismissed him. Instead, she was rolling through plans on how to leave Hogwarts.

"Miss Hopkins, I need you to pay attention," Albus lowered his tone, firm.

She looked up, "I am," a blink, "just— why am I here?"

"What I told your friends, that we are about to close the investigation, that is a lie."

Shock, quickly followed by alarm. _Why's he telling me this? What—_

"But you've already guessed this, young Slytherin. Though, you're unaware of the reasons for my deception, and lack the knowledge to understand why it was necessary."

_What? Okay. Was my face off? I looked skeptical? Okay. Wait, why—_ she broke his gaze, looking down at the table, brows furrowed.

"Headmaster," spoke the girl, "why are you telling me all this?" her words were precise, careful like she'd thought them over before speaking them.

"Because there _is_ a reason for the deception. I implore you to believe that the Aurors and myself are able to investigate this without your help. In fact, I'm quite curious why a first year believes herself to be more knowledgeable than several grown-up witches and wizards. It seems far wiser to me that you listen to your professors, when they all give you the same advice."

At this, her thoughts went something like this: _Umbridge wants it solved quickly, and doesn't care who's caught so long as she can tell the Rowle family she's solved it._ And then, _if I managed to escape the school, then someone else much more clever than me might, too. The adults just want me out of the way, they don't care so long as they've covered their arses._

"Because it's dangerous," said the girl, instead. "I don't get why you're so keen on keeping me at Hogwarts when I don't want to be here. You can't _actually_ keep me here, anyway— that's up to my parents. And I know they don't want me here, with the murdering and the bullying."

Perhaps she could be reasoned with? It was difficult to tell, she _was_ only a first year, after all. He already knew that threatening her with detentions didn't motivate her. If he could reason with her, convince her to leave this path, he'd avoid endangering her mind. He didn't _want_ to have to alter her mind more than necessary. There were too many risks.

"Your parents aren't likely to understand wizarding matters, but besides that—"

"Besides that..." Hopkins trailed off, eyes widening, "_Headmaster,_ please—" her brain was _panicking,_ "my parents can take me out of this school, can't they? Please don't tell me they can't."

The blind panic she was feeling was quite telling. If she kept thinking that, she'd be driven to only _more_ extreme actions. And then he would have to expel her. He couldn't have students at Hogwarts, so completely unable to accept authority that they'd attack a teacher to prove a point.

He was granting her leeway now, because he suspected that this behavior was brought on by the _corruption_ she'd faced in the forest. Harper was obviously effected, but the impact on her might be more subtle. Rash actions, even temporary insanity, could be expected.

In spite of this, he'd rather not expel her. He didn't want to be responsible for the child's death.

Once expelled, with Voldemort risen, Hopkins and her family would be at great risk. Already he'd expended resources, placed protection charms on every muggbleborn's home at Hogwarts, once he discovered the Dark Lord was risen.

But, there was only so much he could do. At least _here_, the children were safe.

"In June, once the school year is over, you may request a transfer to another school. This is most unusual, but it has been done."

"What if I want to leave now?"

"Miss Hopkins," he broke off, considering, "I wish to shelter young students like yourself. It is my dearest wish for you to spend your childhood happy, enjoying the many delights of wizardry. Alas, I fear I cannot. A dark force is rising in Britain, one who wishes nothing more than to strike at the very heart of all we hold dear."

At that, there was a spark of recognition in her eyes. "that's what The Toad— Um— Umbridge? The Minister's secretary, she was saying how you were lying about something. And then Lord Malfoy said all that about the dark lord coming back, and a schoolteacher disappeared with a magical artifact— that's what you're talking about, isn't it?"

Albus Dumbledore's bushy brows rose.

And from her mind he saw that she put that together with only minimal knowledge. She'd only half-overheard a couple conversations. Moreover, she knew about truth potions and how they were used. She'd correctly deduced that citizens were often questioned under veritaserum, and that the Homonculus Charm minded the locations of witches and wizards across Britain.

She'd even come up with a plan to counter it, while trying to escape the Ministry. It was a short-sighted, poorly carried out plan, but a plan nonetheless.

All those thoughts were tangled up in her mind, factored into how she interpreted what he said. This was more than most muggleborns learned, in their first week.

Indeed, he might be able to do this without altering her mind at all. That'd be the best of all worlds. And if she came to the wrong conclusions, he could always obliviate her and start again.

"Yes," Albus Dumbledore nodded, "Lord Voldemort has risen. He and his followers wish nothing more for you and other young muggleborns to never attend Hogwarts." And their deaths, but he didn't wish to terrify her.

"Why haven't the Aurors arrested him?" asked the eleven year old child.

"I fear he is too powerful, Miss Hopkins."

_Okay,_ thought the girl, _so he's a super-villain._ And this followed a pattern of thought he didn't follow, because the words _super-villain_ triggered an automatic response of resolve and excitement.

"Miss Hopkins," he felt slightly alarmed, "what would you do if you had the opportunity to meet such a wizard?"

The girl blinked in surprise.

"Er— well, I'd run away?" she paused, "unless you meant when I grow up. Because then I'd fight him. Wait, are my parents safe? If this man's running around killing muggleborns and their families, then is it safe for them to even _be_ in Britain?"

Albus Dumbledore's heart ached.

This child wished to become a hero, to protect her friends and defend the weak. And while she didn't always behave kindly, like all children, her intent was to do Good.

This was not some ill-fated Dark Witch, like the many he'd seen before her. And that hurt him, but also gave him hope.

"Miss Hopkins, not one witch or wizard knows where your parents live. And no map can display the location of a muggle. They're quite safe."

And they were even _more_ safe if he didn't mention the protection charms he'd placed on their home. They'd hardly work if the wizard's who'd hunt Miss Hopkins' parents knew of their existence.

"I see," Hopkins blinked, "and if I go home, then the maps will note where they live. Do they keep logs? Like, a history? I was there before September first, and if anyone can look at it, then they can find my parents through me."

Albus Dumbledore smiled, eyes twinkling, "all such histories have been lost, I'm afraid. It's quite mysterious."

This was true, and one of the most _basic_ protections he'd devised against Lord Voldemort's allies. They'd discover it the moment they went looking, so it was no great loss to tell Hopkins.

The girl dropped back in her chair, tension escaping her in one great huff, then— "wait, what about Christmas break? And summer break?"

"I cannot speak to future disappearances, unfortunately. It would be quite odd, if I should know about the _future_ vanishing records."

"That's good to hear." Hopkins said. Hopkins, who knew about truth serum and _knew_ he couldn't admit to any kind of meddling, out of fear that someone would question her.

She was unaware of legilimency, though the same basic principle applied. How she interpreted what he said was one thing. If he actually _said_ it, that was another.

And now the arrogant little child believed he was— and these were her thoughts— _an actually competent adult._

Because, for some reason up until now, she'd believed he was insane and useless. It was striking, how little respect muggleborns held for their elders. No wizardborn child would ever dare speak to adults the way this child did, the way her friends did.

They might lie about rule-breaking and minor schoolyard fights, but never about serious matters of Wizardry. It was baffling.

Even Harry Potter tried to _smuggle a dragon_ out of the school his first year, dragging the young Weasley boy along with him. Twice he'd caught sixth year muggleborns attempting to brew outrageously complicated potions in abandoned classrooms. Once, a muggle-raised child _murdered another student with the fabled monster of Slytherin._

There was a level seen there, that spoke of a profound disrespect toward elder, wiser wizards.

"Er— so— I've said this to my friends, but you ought to know, too. I think my memories might be fake, maybe. I don't know, I can't tell. But if my memories are fake, then I reckon Harper and I were meant to live, for some reason. The murderer wouldn't give us fake memories in case were were caught _and then_ kill us. Not unless—" the girl blinked, "not unless they were _really_ well prepared. Were they? I mean, then they wouldn'tve gotten caught, I don't think."

She was reaching out, because she believed he might be able to solve the mystery _if he had her insights._ The audacity left him torn between laughing and groaning.

"Your memories of that night are not fake, Miss Hopkins." He'd seen the fire, the wooden effigy, and the two students frozen in horror. It was real.

"Okay. Then I _am_ in danger. All three of us were taken there to die, and I think I was the target. Harper and Rowle followed _me,_ you see?" and then, "why didn't you want the Aurors to do _everything_ they could, when you knew all the passageways weren't covered?"

"Miss Hopkins, might you consider that telling the students of hidden traps for the murderer might not be wise? Students speak to one another, believing their conversations to be confidential. And there are many hidden powers which might reveal secrets one would rather be kept secret."

Hopkins blinked, "you mean, truth potions? You think if you tell me, some bad person will use truth potion on me to tell if I know anything important." A pause, "but if they've already got me as their prisoner, then won't I be in deep trouble, anyway?"

He wanted to groan. She missed the entire point. It was a trap, laid out for the murderer. Sprout and Hopkins, through their meddling, managed to disarm three traps he'd laid down. They had to do such things, just in case it _wasn't_ a summoned monster.

"Miss Hopkins, you were not the target of the attack. There was another motive, one which I'd be remiss in telling you. So long as you stay within the bounds of the castle, you are safe."

The girl blinked, and thought, _now I'm just curious._

"Can you give me a clue like you did before with the maps?" her tone was hopeful.

Albus wished to sigh in disappointment. "I've given you no clues, and have meant _exactly_ what I said, before. There's no hint to give."

_Oh, right. He can't hint that he gave a hint,_ Miss Hopkins rolled her eyes. "Okay, then say something vague and mysterious that I could mistake for a clue?"

"I'm afraid I cannot."

The girl groaned, but he was heartened to see that she was doubting her decision to run away, if only a little.

Her other reasons were now limited to the bullies and the dawning realization that she was actually going to have to attend all the detentions she'd racked up.

Perhaps she _wouldn't_ be setting robes on fire, any longer.

One could only hope.

Though, her ability to partly decipher doublespeak might allow him another path, instead of compelling her.

After all, teaching her brain _not to ask for help_ might have unfortunate long-term consequences.

"If you wouldn't mind, Miss Hopkins. I'd like to discuss a matter of grave importance with you."

The girl raised her brows, "okay?" _Is he fucking with me?_

"Do you know much about the governing of Wizarding Britain?" he asked.

She shrugged, "not really?" then, _oh, he's about to give me a mysterious and vague clue,_ followed by giddy excitement.

"Few know of it, so young. I thought it might be prudent to give you a short lesson on the topic."

"Okay." _And now for the clue..._

"The Wizengamot is the judicial arm of the Ministry, presiding over court cases. It also has veto power over the Minister. Traditionally, the court was composed of Lords and Ladies who would make charters, and held special privileges."

"Sorry, I'm not following." Hopkins was confused. She was currently trying to figure out if there was a secret message in the wording, or some other, more abstract clue.

He explained it again, using different words, "there's a wizarding court where a number of witches and wizards act as judges. They decide if someone is guilty of a crime, and what sort of punishment they deserve. Do you understand?"

"Er, if you mean do I understand the words? Yes. If there's a secret message there, I'm not getting it."

"Indeed, well, the judges are decided upon by the Minister. Yet, if the Minister does something the judges do not like, they may impeach him. That is to say, they can fire him if they don't like who he decides to become judge."

Hopkins frowned, "okay?"

"Lord Malfoy is a member of that court. In fact, you already know the children of _many_ members. Young Roderick Selwyn, for example."

The girl gave him a blank stare, thinking, _Lady Malfoy was staring at me. Does it have something to do with the court? Is that what he's trying to tell me, why she's staring at me?_

Ah, definitely not.

"I also wished to speak on bullying at Hogwarts, Miss Hopkins."

Now, the child was very confused, "sure. But— if there was a secret message there, I don't get it. And yeah, I know not to _say_ what I think it might be, but I really don't get it."

He ignored her, "bullying at Hogwarts is taken very seriously. If one student is found to be bullying another student, the typical punishment is a deduction in points or a detention, depending on the severity. Should matters escalate, the Headmaster becomes involved. If matters escalate _beyond_ the school, the Wizengamot is asked to preside over the case."

The realization came to her almost instantly. _And then Lord Selwyn and Lord Malfoy will insist their pureblood twats of sons never did anything, and their friends in the court would agree._

"What happens if, say, the children of a Lord get a detention?"

"Of course, every child is treated the same at Hogwarts, no matter their parents."

_In other words, they won't get detention,_ thought Hopkins, who then said, "I get it."

"I'm afraid there was no secret message to impart, Miss Hopkins. I only wished to advise you of the court system, and give you advice on who to speak to, should you find yourself bullied."

Hopkins smiled without any humor, "_thank you_, Headmaster. That explains a lot."

She desperately needed to learn _not_ to reply to the secret message, and instead keep up the facade. Such a child would not last very long in the Wizarding world, once she left Hogwarts. For now, this was adequate. Should she be questioned under veritaserum, the girl would only be able to say that her eccentric headmaster gave her an odd lecture on the Wizengamot and bullying at Hogwarts. The rest were her own inferences.

"I've also learned you've made a friend in Professor Sprout, and I'm glad to hear it. She's known to do anything in her power to help her students."

_Is he saying I should go to her for help, or that she'd piss off the Wizengamot?_ she thought, while saying, "okay."

"Professor Sprout has primarily two concerns in life, her plants and her students. Outside that, I know she enjoys cooking biscuits for students during their study sessions."

"Er— um— that's nice?" Hopkins was baffled, "she's really nice."

"Indeed. Hufflepuff has always prided fairness and loyalty above all. The families with children in Hufflepuff, likewise, prize fairness above all, it seems."

_Fairness. Then, she never had to deal with bullies like that before? But that seems really unlikely. I mean, if she's been a professor for a few years, she'd have to encounter some dickheads—_

"She believes the very best in people. It is to my belief that she thought you would've never truly acted. When you suggested to your friends that you start a riot, she believed that you'd not go through with it, that it would be too unkind."

_Wow, really? Is he saying Sprout doesn't believe in me anymore? Wait, no, hold on. Oh. He's saying all she knows about is her plants and biscuits. And that she deals with parents who'd be upset if their kids were dickheads. And she thinks the best in people, so she wouldn't expect—_

"Headmaster?" Hopkins voice was small, "what should I do, if going to the professors— I mean, I don't know how to fix this."

She was thinking that young Avery's advice on avoiding Selwyn now made sense.

"Of course, I must bid you speak to a professor, should you be bullied." He said this with no small amount of regret coloring his tone.

Hopkins squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed audibly, slumping down in her chair.

"I got advice from an older Slytherin," her voice wobbled mid sentence, "that I should blame my sorting on you, and say you wouldn't let me leave the school, or switch houses. In a pretend world where a muggleborn girl in Slytherin was being bullied by the children of Lords, would that make it stop?"

He considered it for a moment. It was likely what the students already thought, so there'd be no harm in it.

"I believe it wouldn't harm anything. Though to that child, I'd suggest devoting her efforts to her friendships, to those who are loyal, kind, and brave."

"I sleep in the same— er— What if she sleeps in the same room with them?"

"Miss Hopkins, I'd have to suggest that the child speak to her professors. Though, in an unrelated note, you do not share a dorm with any children of Lords."

"I don't?"

"No, if I'm correct, your dorm-mates are a young Miss Vaisey and Miss Brody."

_Cokebottles, who hates my guts and is good with a cutting charm, and Brody— who the fuck is Brody? But, if either of them aren't the kids of Lords, or aren't friends with them, then they won't do anything serious. It'll be South Brent style fighting, and I can handle that._

He considered, briefly, if telling her this damaged her belief in the goodness of others. Perhaps he was teaching her to be bitter and cold.

"Miss Hopkins, do you trust your friends to help you, should you encounter difficulties?"

_What?_ then, "sure."

She did, but with caveats. Mallory Hopkins expected Colin Creevey and Kit Jennings to help her, regardless. She held less hope for Felix Underwood, believing him to resent her for getting him into trouble.

It seemed this venture hadn't damaged her belief in the goodness of others. And he'd avoided compelling her, again.

There was a slim chance she'd ever be asked about this under veritaserum, and even if she ever were, this conversation wouldn't be ammunition for his enemies.

He couldn't help how a young child interpreted his words, after all.


End file.
